PUBLISHERS'    ADVERTISEMENT. 


From   the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 
THE    "NO    NAME   SERIES." 

"  LEIGH  -HUNT,  in  his  '  Indicator,'  has  a  pleasant  chapter 
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Roberts  Brothers  have  just  overcome  a  similar  difficulty  in 
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Novels  and  Tales,  to  be  published  Anonymously.  These 
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of  fiction  have  agreed  to  contribute  to  the  Series,  the  initial 
volume  of  which  is  now  in  press.  Its  appearance  will  cer- 
tainly be  awaited  with  curiosity." 


The  plan  thus  happily  foreshadowed  will  be  immediately 
inaugurated  by  the  publication  of  "MERCY  PHILBRICK'S 
CHOICE,"  from  the  pen  of  a  well-known  and  successful  writer 
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It  is  intended  to  include  in  the  Series  a  volume  of  anonymous 
poems  from  famous  hands,  to  be  written  especially  for  it. 

The  "  No  Name  Series "  will  be  issued  at  convenient  inter- 
vals, in  handsome  library  form,  i6mo,  cloth,  price  $1.00  each. 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS. 

BOSTON,  Midsummer,  1876. 


Publishers'       r*  Advertisement. 


THE    NO    NAME    NOVELS. 


"  No  one  of  the  numerous  series  of  novels  with  which  the 
country  has  been  deluged  of  late  contains  as  many  good 
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MONTHLY. 

FIRST  SERIES.— Mercy  Philbrick's  Choice  ;  Afterglow;  Delrdre; 
Hetty's  Strange  History;  Is  That  All?  Will  Denbigh,  Noble- 
man; Kismet;  The  Wolf  at  the  Door;  The  Great  Match; 
Marmorne;  Mirage;  A  Modern  Mephlstopheles;  Gemini;  A 
Masque  of  Poets.  14  vols.,  black  and  gold. 

SECOND  SERIES.  — Signor  Monaldini's  Niece;  The  Colonel's 
Opera  Cloak;  His  Majesty,  Myself;  Mrs.  Beauchamp  Brown; 
Salvage;  Don  John;  The  Tsar's  Window;  Manuela  Paredes ; 
Baby  Rue;  My  Wife  and  My  Wife's  Sister;  Her  Picture; 
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THIRD    SERIES. 

The  publishers,  flattered  by  the  reception  given  to  the  First  and 
Second  Series  of  "  No  Name  Novels,"  among  which  may  be  named 
several  already  famous  in  the  annals  of  fiction,  will  continue  the  issue 
with  a  Third  Series,  which  will  retain  the  original  features  of  the 
First  and  Second  Series,  but  in  a  new  style  of  binding. 

ALREADY    PUBLISHED: 
HER    CRIME.  LITTLE    SISTER. 

BARRINCTON'S     FATE. 

A     DAUGHTER     OF     THE     PHILISTINES. 
PRINCESS     AMELIE.  DIANE     CORYVAL. 

ALMOST     A     DUCHESS. 

A     SUPERIOR     WOMAN.  JUSTINA. 

A     QUESTION     OF     IDENTITY. 

The  Price  of  each  Series  is  $1.00  per  volume. 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,   Publishers. 


to 


A/I 


NO   NAME    SERIES. 


IS   THAT  ALL? 


NO    NAME    SERIES. 

"  Is  THE  GENTLEMAN  ANONYMOUS?    Is  HE  A  GREAT  UNKNOWN  ? " 

DANIEL  DERONDA. 


Is  THAT  ALL? 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 
1887. 


Copyright,  1876, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

PAGE. 

CALL  IT  NOT  PROVINCIAL  ! .  .  7 


CHAPTER    II. 
CAMARILLA 23 

CHAPTER    III. 
AN  ANGEL  UNA-WAKES 45 

CHAPTER    IV. 
ANOTHER 64 

CHAPTER    V. 
CHIEF  LT  CHORAL 81 

CHAPTER    VI. 
AT  THE  PRYORS'  .  93 


CHAPTER    VII. 

AT  THE  ANDERSONS' 


17Q22CO 


vi  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

PAGE. 

THE  EARTHLY  PAKADISE   .  .    135 


CHAPTER    IX. 
ON  TIIE  ICE 151 

CHAPTER    X. 
BBEAKING  THE  ICE 176 

CHAPTER    XI. 
CONFUSION 203 

CHAPTER    XII. 
RESOLUTION 223 


IS   THAT    ALL? 


CHAPTER    I. 

CALL    IT    NOT    PEOVINCIAL  ! 

the  first  of  November,  just  ten  years 
ago,  the  great  world  of  Guildford  had  all 
come  back  to  town.  Veritable  metropolitans, 
of  recent  wealth  and  eminence,  may  smile  at  the 
notion  that  so  unimportant  a  place  can  have  a 
great  world  at  all ;  but  all  who  are  well  versed 
in  the  social  traditions  of  this  country  under- 
stand perfectly  the  import  of  the  phrase  "  one 
of  the  best  families  of  Guildford."  I  am  in  a 
position  to  introduce  my  reader  to  the  best 
families,  but  it  must  of  course  depend  some- 
what upon  himself  whether  he  makes  his  way 


among  them. 


(7) 


8  IS  THAT  ALL? 

A  fine,  mature  old  inland  city  is  Guildford, 
as  the  summer  tourists  who  sometimes  rest 
there  for  a  night,  on  their  swift  transit  along 
the  great  railway-routes  that  graze  it,  only 
begin  to  know.  If  haply  these,  after  partak- 
ing of  a  multifarious  late  dinner  at  the  biggest 
and  costliest  of  Guildford's  hotels,  wander  up- 
ward and  westward  in  the  late  sunset,  they 
find  broad,  quiet  streets,  elm-shaded,  and  re- 
lieved by  tidy,  bowery  little  parks,  with  hand- 
some houses,  and  elderly  churches,  not  too 
many  or  too  fine.  Highest  of  all  —  for  the 
cross-streets  are  very  tolerably  steep  —  they 
come  upon  a  truly  noble  avenue.  Here  the 
houses  are  set  far  apart,  and  separated  by 
old-fashioned  lawns  and  gardens.  Hardly  one 
of  these  mansions  will  own  to  less  than  sixty 
or  seventy  years  —  which  is  almost  as  good 
for  practical  purposes  as  battlements  and  a 
moat  —  and  their  deep-seated  rear  windows 
look  down  upon  an  uudefiled  stretch  of  the 


IS  THAT  ALL? 


river,  which  almost  enfolds  Guildford  in  its 
sharp  curve,  and,  beyond  this,  over  a  pecu- 
liarly sweet  expanse  of  farming,  fruit-growing 
country. 

The  inquisitive  tourist,  whom  for  a  moment 
we  follow,  breathed  a  little  by  the  steep  ascent, 
is  wont  to  rest  awhile  against  the  foliage- 
crowned,  strict  garden-walls  that  intervene 
between  the  houses  on  River  Avenue,  and, 
blinking  in  the  last  rays  of  the  vanishing  sun, 
to  wonder  why  the  houses  are  all  closed,  and 
the  gardens  into  which  he  peeps  a  trifle  neg- 
lected and  overgrown,  and  why  in  the  world 
people  who  own  such  places  need  abandon 
them  in  the  summer.  Like  many  other  need- 
less things,  it  is  a  fashion.  The  people  who 
originally  built  the  River  Avenue  houses  hap- 
pened, almost  all  of  them,  to  possess  farms 
and  orchards  somewhere  in  that  stretch  of 
green  country  to  the  west,  and  to  care  enough 
for  these,  and  for  a  genuine  old-fashioned  coun- 


10  IS  THAT  ALL  t 

try  life,  to  retain  them  and  return  thither  for 
some  part,  at  least,  of  every  summer ;  and  the 
taste  has  been  cherished. 

Of  course,  then,  the  custom  would  bo  imi- 
tated as  closely  as  possible  by  the  people  who 
came  to  live  in  those  other  pleasant  streets 
which  were  created  a  little  lower  than  River 
Avenue,  and  I  have  occasionally  heard  the 
denizens  of  these  last  allege  in  explanation  of 
their  perfunctory  exile,  that  they  like  to  avoid 
the  espionage  of  our  poor,  harmless,  idle 
summer  tourists. 

There  is  a  little  affectation  in  this.  I  cannot 
but  think  that  the  people  of  Second  and  Third 
Streets  often  find  the  custom  irksome  which 
obliges  them  to  forsake  their  spacious  and 
comfortable  domiciles  for  hot  cars  and  stifling 
attics  during  a  part  of  July  and  August.. 

But  for  their  noble  exemplars  one  row  above 
them,  who  have  both  the  polish  of  the  city 
and  the  dignified  free-haudedness  of  the  coun- 


15  THAT  ALL?  II 

try,  who  give  you  cream  and  fruit  from  "  the 
farm"  —  delightful  boast  —  all  the  year  round, 
•whoso  well-mannered  sons  love  field  sports, 
and  the  beauty  of  whose  till  daughters  is  of  a 
round  and  rosy  order,  —  for  them  I  have  a 
kind  of  religious  admiration  and  a  very  honest 
envy.  I  think  them  the  most  fortunate  people 
in  the  world  in  their  external  circumstances, 
except  the  English  gentry. 

The  temptation  is  great  to  go  on  moralizing 
about  Guildford,  which  I  know  so  well  and 
always  find  an  interesting  subject  for  theory 
and  reflection ;  but  I  must  restrain  myself,  and 
make  my  preliminaries  as  few  and  brief  as 
possible. 

In  fine,  therefore,  the  society  of  Guildford 
is  rather  largely  professional,  owing  to  the  fact 
that  the  courts  are  held  there,  and  also  because 
there  is  a  richly-endowed  Episcopal  College  in 
the  pleasantest  suburb,  and  it  is  just  suffi- 
ciently literary.  You  meet  with,  perhaps,  an 


12  IS  THAT  ALLt 


unusual  number  of  people  who  have  written  a 
book,  and  some  of  them  (the  books,  I  mean,) 
are  not  so  bad. 

Nevertheless,  the  amusements  of  the  place 
are  by  no  means  as  exclusively  serious,  aes- 
thetic, and  instructive  as  they  are  in , 

for  instance.  The  art  actually  survives  in 
Guildford  of  giving  a  party  where  the  guests 
include  both  old  and  young,  where  no  "  paper  " 
is  read,  and  where  there  is  a  supper  both 
moderate  in  quantity  and  original  in  menu. 
The  result  is  that,  although  confessed  conver- 
sation is  almost  unknown,  in  Guildford  every- 
body talks  freely,  briefly,  and,  for  the  most 
part,  brightly.  It  is,  perhaps,  not  so  civil- 
ized as  for  the  many  to  listen  while  the  few 
harangue,  but  it  is  less  monotonous. 

There  is  a  charming  little  theatre  where 
every  great  artist  who  visits  this  country  is 
usually  heard  at  least  once ;  and  joyous  are 
the  nights  when  everybody  goes, — joyous  and 


15   THAT  ALL?  13 


agreeable  to  behold ;  for  the  ladies  of  Guild- 
ford  cling  obstinately  to  the  tradition  of  bare 
heads  and  opera-cloaks. 

In  the  intervals  of  these  great  occasions,  or 
what  may  be  called  the  interstellar  spaces,  I 
must  confess  that  the  pretty  stage  and  conven- 
ient ante-rooms  of  the  tasteful  little  play- 
house are  apt  to  be  given  over  to  amateur 
peformances,  in  which  the  children  of  the 
stockholders  prink  and  pose,  and  ingeniously 
avoid  embracing  in  the  interest  of  this  or  that 
charity,  and  there  is  as  much  native  dramatic 
ability  in  Guildford  as  elsewhere,  and  more 
intelligence  and  practice. 

During  the  four  years  of  the  civil  war  in- 
deed —  hardly  eighteen  months  ended  when  my 
story  begins  —  there  had  been  a  long  suspense 
of  innocent  fun.  Great  would  have  been  the 
scorn  of  Guildford  and  her  daughters  if  her 
favorite  sons  could  have  trodden  any  mimic 
stage  during  that  solemn  tune.  The  building 


14  IS  THAT  ALLf 


had  been  often  used,  but  strangely.  Real, 
faltering  prayers  had  been  breathed  behind  the 
dim  footlights,  and  the  delicately-colored  and 
gilded  auditorium  had  resounded  to  sobs  as 
often  as  to  applause.  But  the  long  agony  was 
over  now.  Some  of  the  young  heroes  had 
come  back  braced  and  bronzed  into  a  new 
semblance,  and  others  were  growing  up  to  fill 
the  places  of  those  who  would  never  come, 
and  the  tide  of  life  began  once  more  to  run 
and  ripple  brightly. 

The  war  had  made  other  changes  and  broken 
down  some  ancient  barriers.  Six  years  before, 
to  some  one  expatiating  on  the  charms  of 
society  in  Guildford,  a  knowing  stranger  had 
observed,  "  But  you  have  not  yet  named  the 
first  requisite  of  a  splendid  and  successful 
society.  Have  you  a  queen  ?  " 

"  Oh,  better  than  that ! "  was  the  prompt 
reply.  "  "We  have  rival  queens  ! " 

I  think,  however,  that  in  the  old  times  the 


15  THAT  ALLt  15 


rivalry  had  been  too  distant  for  the  best  gen- 
eral effect,  and  the  lines  of  division  too  deeply 
drawn.  Mrs.  Pry  or  honestly  despised  Mrs. 
Anderson,  and  Mrs.  Anderson  had  a  genuine 
horror  of  Mrs.  Pryor.  Mrs.  Pryor  went  sel- 
dom to  a  Unitarian  chapel  of  the  extreme  left. 
Mrs.  Anderson  was  a  devout  Churchwoman. 
Mrs.  Pryor  was  just  as  advanced  and  adven- 
turous in  all  her  views  as  the  ever-graceful 
traditions  of  my  favorite  town  would  allow. 
Mrs.  Anderson  was  obstinately  and  sweetly 
conservative. 

In  reality  the  professed  unbeliever  was  sub- 
ject to  frequent  and  serious  convictions  of 
many  kinds,  and  the  profesged  believer  was 
troubled  by  very  few  which  were  independent. 
Both  had  a  good  deal  of  the  pride  of  life 
about  them  ;  but  the  one  strove  with  it  —  theo- 
retically —  on  democratic  principles  ;  the  other 
—  quite  as  theoretically  —  on  religious.  Both 
were  actively  benevolent;  but  the  time  had 


16  18  THAT  ALLt 

been  when  either  would  sooner  have  seen  a  pet 
eleemosynary  suffer  just  a  little  than  be  re- 
lieved by  the  other.  Then  came  the  swift 
overflow  of  a  universal  cause,  sweeping  them 
into  one  mind  and  one  work;  and,  for  a 
while,  they  almost  thought  they  loved,  and 
could  never  again  wholly  misunderstand  one 
another.  Further  particulars  about  the  joint 
sovereigns  you  will  discover  for  yourselves ; 
but  I  pray  you  mind  them  well,  for  I  foresee 
that  one  of  them,  at  least,  may  prove  a  prin- 
cipal heroine  of  my  story. 

And  so  it  was  the  first  of  November,  1866, 
and  half-a-dozen  of  the  young  men  and  maid- 
ens of  Guildford  jiad  met  among  the  superb  and 
silent  casts  in  the  entrance  hall  of  the  new  Art 
Museum.  The  Museum  was  the  bequest  of 
Benjamin  Burrage,  who,  in  dying,  sacrificed  to 
the  graces,  which  he  had  ever  defied  in  life. 
The  sum  devised  had  been  allowed  to  accumu- 
late from  1835  to  1860.  Then  a  building  had 


15  THAT  ALL?  17 


been  modestly  founded,  fitly  left  unfinished  for 
four  years,  but  now  modestly  completed  and 
inaugurated,  and  naturally,  in  its  freshness,  it 
was  a  favorite  place  of  resort. 

To-day,  there  slowly  trod  its  tasteful  tiles 
Isabel  Rae,  who  had  been  three  years  abroad, 
and  spoke  concerning  the  objects  about  her  as 
one  having  authority ;  fair  Annie  Faxon  and 
her  school-girl  sister,  still  in  mourning ;  Emily 
Richards ;  Capt.  Henry  McArthur,  who  had 
left  his  dalliance  after  Isabel  to  join  the  volun- 
teers, and  who  had  now  a  stiff  elbow-joint  and 
a  white  seam,  half-hidden  by  the  curls  above 
his  left  temple ;  and  George  Aspinwall,  a 
clever  lawyer  of  twenty-nine,  who  had  never 
abandoned  his  position  on  the  home-guard,  and 
had  been  half  prized  and  half  despised  by  the 
girls  of  '62  and  63  as  a  myopic  exempt. 

Miss  Rae  was  remarking  that  the  Pryors 
were  come,  and  —  "Oh,  have  you  seen  them? 
How  is  the  Colonel  ? "  cried  a  trio  of  youthful 
2 


18  IS  THAT  ALLf 

voices  in  varying  tones  of  sweet,  high-pitched 
solicitude. 

"I  saw  Mrs.  Pryor  just  one  moment.  Her 
husband  is  very  little  better,  and  still  smTcrs 
fearfully  from  nervous  restlessness.  The  doc- 
tors say  hb  won't  leave  his  room  this  winter." 

"It  is  horrible  !  "  sighed  Annie  Faxon. 

"Perfectly  beastly  !  "  cried  her  sister  Grace. 

"  It  destroys  exactly  two-thirds  of  the  pleas- 
ure of  life,"  pronounced  the  lively  Miss  Rich- 
ards.  "I  shall  take  to  daily  service  and  eccle- 
siastical embroider}7." 

But  Capt.  McArthur  shrugged  his  broad 
shoulders,  and  Mr.  Aspiuwall  remarked,  with 
the  touch  of  sarcasm  which  he  affected,  that  he 
was  resigned,  and  thought  it  uncommonly  kind 
of  Heaven  to  afford  "  us  young  fellows  "  one 
more  chance. 

"You  will  do  your  best,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Miss  Richards,  with  gracious  impertinence ; 
"but  what  will  that  be  without  the  great,  crea- 


IS   THAT  ALL?  19 


tive  organizing  mind?  You  know  yourself, 
Mr.  Aspiuwall,  how  we  languished  ill  its 
absence. 

"Oh,  come,"  said  McArthur,  "the  Colonel  is 
a  brave  soldier  as  well  as  a  great  swell.  It  is 
quite  possible  to  be  both,  you  know.  A  great 
many  fellows  are ;  and  I  am  proud  to  have 
obeyed  him.  But  when  it  comes  to  original 
genius  in  entertainment,  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
their  house  was,  of  course,  the  pleasautest  in 
Guildford,  but  I  think  it  was  always  Mrs.  Pryor 
who  did  it.  The  Colonel's  function  in  the  old 
days  used  to  strike  me  as  chiefly  ornamental. 
We  can  spare  him  much  the  better  of  the  two, 
I  should  say,  and  if  Madam  will  only —  " 

"But  of  course,"  interrupted  Miss  Faxon, 
with  the  ready  indignation  of  a  rousse,  w  she 
will  not  leave  him  !  I  know  I  would  never  ! 
And  she  has  been  perfectly  devoted  !" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  added  George  Aspinwall, 
with  hardly  perceptible  mockery,  "  but,  do  you 


2O  IS  THAT  ALLf 

know,  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Pryor  can  be  a  fanat- 
-ical  wife.  She's  a  lady  of  the  very  broadest 
views,  and  if  once  convinced  that  the  general 
interests  of  society  require  her  to  forsake  the 
luxurious  retirement  of  her  lord's  sick-room, 
we  shall  have  her  at  the  helm  again,  take  my 
word  for  it !  No  such  good  news  for  Mrs. 
Anderson  as  her  retirement !  I  shouldn't  won- 
der if  even  the  Sunday  receptions  were  revived 
in  a  modified  form.  How  would  that  agree 
with  daily  service,  Miss  Richards?" 

"Not  at  all,  of  course!  I  mentioned  daily 
service  as  an  alternative." 

But  stately  Miss  Rae,  never  a  devoted  list- 
ener, observed  dreamily : 

"  The  worst  of  it  all  to  me  is,  that  such  a 
man  must  continue  to  suffer.  His  sensibilities 
are  so  exquisite !  He  so  religiously  adores 
personal  beauty,  and  health,  and  perfection." 
Then  she  paused  and  colored  slightly,  feeling 
herself  in  the  focus  of  Aspiu wall's  eye-glasses, 


18  THAT  ALLt  21 

and  presently  added,  with  a  wave  of  her  lace 
parasol,  "I  think  that  Silenus,  with  the  infant 
Bacchus,  the  finest  thing  in  the  whole  collec- 
tion. It  is  a  glorious  cast !  " 

Before  any  one  was  sufficiently  collected  to 
respond  appropriately  to  this  aesthetic  outburst, 
an  interruption  occurred. 

"Excuse  me,  Miss  Rae,  but"  —  to  the  group 
in  general  —  w  were  you  not  speaking  of  Col. 
Pryor?  How  is  he?" 

The  lady  who  had  swept  in  among  them, 
with  her  long  silk  train  and  close-fitting  jacket 
of  black  velvet,  had  a  voice  of  honey  and  a 
smile  like  September  sunshine.  The  rest  de- 
ferred to  Isabel,  who  repeated  her  unfavorable 
report  coldly. 

w  Oh,  I  am  so  grieved  ! "  mourned  the  melli- 
fluous tones.  wAnd  is  Mrs.  Pryor  extremely 
worn  ?  " 

WI  scarcely  saw  her.  She  looked  much  as 
usual." 


22  IS  THAT  ALL? 


"  She  has  such  endurance  !  Pray  tell  me, 
has  the  Colonel  an  appetite?  Docs  he  like 
little  delicacies  and  remembrances ?  Flowers? 
fruit?  Of  course  they  have  everything;  but 
one  likes  to  be  attentive  if  one  knows  the  right 
way.  I  always  thought  the  Colonel  such  a 
fastidious  creature,  and  now  he  is  a  hero  be- 
sides !  Good-morning !  "  and  with  a  graceful, 
general  inclination,  she  turned  away. 

Miss  Richards  could  have  smitten  herself 
for  glancing  at  Mr.  Aspinwall ,  but  the  tempta- 
tion was  too  swift  and  slight. 

"There  goes  a  sincere  mourner,"  said  that 
gentleman,  softly. 

"There  goes  a  beautiful  woman,"  said  Capt. 
McArthur,  playfully  saluting  the  departing 
figure. 

The  lady  was  Mrs.  Anderson. 


CHAP.    II. 

CAMAEILLA. 

ON  a  bright  but  chilly  afternoon,  a  few 
days  later,  in  a  long  western  chamber  of 
the  best  house  on  River  Avenue,  a  handsome, 
man  of  forty-five  lay  flat  upon  a  low,  luxurious 
couch,  with  the  dawn  of  a  whimsical  smile 
upon  his  delicate  features ;  and  a  handsome 
woman  of  about  the  same  age  sat  in  an  arm- 
chair, facing  him,  the  image,  for  the  time,  of 
perplexity  and  disheartenment. 

The  room  was  pleasant.  A  lacquered  screen 
—  a  marvel  of  Japanese  art  —  shut  off  the 
flicker  of  the  open  fire-light  from  the  eyes  of 
the  invalid,  and  the  blue  .shades  were  drawn, 
and  the  fine  lace  curtains  lowered  at  the  two 
nearest  windows.  But  in  at  the  third,  behind 


24  IS  THAT  ALLf 


his  head,  the  afternoon  sun  streamed  brightly, 
the  half-opened  door  of  a  spacious  dressing- 
room  gave  a  yet  longer  vista,  the  bed  was  cur- 
tained away  in  an  alcove,  the  pictures  were 
appropriate,  though  few,  easy-chairs  abounded, 
and  the  low  tables  were  heaped  with  books  and 
gay  with  flowers. 

I  fancy  that,  ever  since  you  listened  to  the 
talk  of  those  idle  young  people  in  the  Art 
Museum,  you  have  half  despised  Alfred  Pryor 
in  your  heart  as  a  ladies'  pet,  but,  sure  as  fate, 
your  prejudice  will  falter  in  his  presence. 
You  see  now,  that  his  features,  for  all  their 
extreme  fineness,  escape  effeminacy ;  and 
though  long  confinement  has  haplessly  re- 
moved the  bronze  color  that,  for  a  time, 
adorned  that  face  so  well,  a  new  dignity  is 
coming  with  the  fast  whitening  hair,  and,  in 
the  quick  hazel  eye,  and  set  of  the  expressive 
lips,  you  may  see  lurking  the  spirit  which 
made  their  previously  dilettante  possessor, 


IS  THAT  ALL  t  2$ 

when  the  hour  came,  reckless  of  clanger,  and 
regnant  over  men. 

The  comeliness  of  Augusta  Pryor,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  of  anything  but  a  disarming 
order.  Her  steady,  purple-blue  eyes  appeared 
to  issue  a  careless  command  for  admiration, 
•which  you  might  obey  or  disregard.  She  was, 
in  fact,  far  too  stout  to  be  appealing,  although  I 
feel  almost  a  traitor  when  I  say  so  ;  for  Heaven 
only  knows  how  bitter  the  fact  was  to  her. 
Once  she  had  been  tall  and  lithe,  now  she  was 
tall,  and,  as  it  is  tenderly  termed,  magnificent; 
but,  although  at  war  with  her  own  proportions, 
she  scorned  the  worse  than  useless  expedients 
of  small  gloves  and  tight  dressing,  piled  her 
gray  hair  high  above  her  unwrinkled  brow, 
and  lifted  ever  so  little  the  undeniably  dupli- 
cate chin,  which  once  had  been  only  bewitch- 
ingly  round.  In  her  rare  moments  of  entire 
repose,  this  towering  creature  had  often  an 
absurd  consciousness  of  what  she  conceived  to 


26  IS  THAT  ALL  f 


be  the  deterioration  of  her  appearance ;  but 
the  moment  she  began  to  speak,  she  forgot  her 
looks,  while  those  who  heard,  seldom  forgot 
her.  Hers  was,  in  fact,  a  somewhat  distin- 
guished gift  of  speech,  —  deep-voiced,  earnest, 
eloquent ;  always  animated,  and,  at  long  inter- 
vals, impassioned.  Now  she  sat  silent  and 
was  not  thinking  of  herself,  but  her  depression 
of  spirits  would  hardly  have  been  recognized 
as  such  by  an  ordinary  observer,  for  it  was 
chiefly  betrayed  by  an  anxious  frown  and  a 
sort  of  pout,  sterner  than  it  had  been  twenty- 
five  years  agone,  and  not  so  engaging  on  the 
lips  which  did  not  close  quite  easily  over  Au- 
gusta's regular  and  beautifully  preserved  teeth. 

When  the  husband  and  wife  had  regarded 
one  another  almost  as  long  as  silence  once 
prevailed  in  heaven,  the  former  spoke  lightly, 
—  "Well,  my  love,  here  we  arc,  and  you 
appear  not  to  like  the  prospect !  " 

"  Don't  jest,  Alfred  !     Of  course  it  is  you  I 


IS   THAT  ALLt  2J 


am  thinking  of.  I  am  so  bitterty  disappointed 
in  tho  result  of  the  summer.  I  cannot  see  that 
you  have  made  the  faintest  gain,  after  all  we 
have  been  through." 

"Nor  I  either,  Gus,  dear,  and  it's  insupport- 
able of  me  !  And  1  can't  even  go  on  my  knees 
to  show  my  self-contempt !  " 

"  Oh,  do  not  mock  me  !  Poor  dear !  But 
one  would  fancy  you  thought  me  sorry  for 
myself.  And  so  I  am,  in  part,  I  dare  say,  for 
I  am  an  extremely  selfish  woman,  Alfred.  But 
the  question  is,  How  can  we  face  another  wear- 
ing winter  like  the  last  ?  How  can  you  bear  it, 
and  how  can  I  bear  seeing  you  bear  it?" 

"That's  the  very  point,"  said  Alfred,  with 
sudden  seriousness,  "of  which  I  have  been 
thinking,  whenever  I  could  think  for  a  week, 
and  I  have  made  up  what  was  formerly  my 
mind.  Augusta,  you  shall  not  see  it !  It 
would  be  sheer  nonsense  for  you  to  watch  me 
as,  you  did  last  year.  Your  wisest  course  and 


28  IS  THAT  ALLt 

truest  kindness  will  be  to  leave  me  alone,  — 
that  is  to  say,  with  some  stolid  attendant  whom 
I  can  abuse  when  I  like.  No  "  —  with  a  lan- 
guid wave  of  the  hand  —  "  don't  take  fire, 
please.  I  can  endure  after  a  fashion,  in  silence, 
just  as  your  own  sex  do  whom  you  occasionally 
taunt  me  with  resembling.  But  I  can't  have  a 
spectacle  made  of  my  endurance.  You  know 
the  sort  of  Pagan  I  am  —  " 

"You  are  more  a  saint  than  any  Chris- 
tian —  " 

"  Thanks,  but  you  know  what  I  have  wor- 
shipped, —  symmetr}',  perfection  of  aspect,  and 
function ;  in  a  word,  beauty !  Your  beauty, 
my  dear,  —  all  beauty,  even  what  they  fool- 
ishly told  me  was  my  own.  "When  I  went  to 
the  war,  the  thing  I  dreaded  was  by  no  means 
death,  but  mutilation,  disfigurement.  It  was 
morbid,  of  course,  but  whatever  personal  virtue 
I  had  in  going  into  action,  consisted  in  defying 
that  keenly-realized  dread.  When  I  lay  in 


IS  THAT  ALLt  29 


that  nauseous  hospital  in  the  Wilderness,  shot 
through  the  thighs,  and  heard  the  doctor  say 
my  legs  were  safe,  I  could  only  exult  in  my 
escape.  And  then,  a  year  later,  when  we 
thought  it  all  right,  and  the  hideous  war-dream 
over,  comes  Nemesis,  or  Providence,  or  what- 
ever you  choose  to  call  it  —  " 

"Say  Nemesis  !"  interrupted  the  lady  quickly. 
KIf  you  should  drop  into  cant  in  your  weak- 
ness, Alfred,  it  would  be,  I  think,  the  last 
drop  that  would  make  my  cup  run  over. 
When  these  pious  people  talk  about  Provi- 
dence, they  appear  to  mean  simply  the  power 
that  lets  them  have  their  own  way.  '  So  provi- 
dential!' Rose  Anderson  says,  when  things  go 
to  suit  her.  Whereas,  if  there's  any  Provi- 
dence about  it,  the  things  that  afflict  and 
annoy  us  must  be  equally  providential." 

"  You  are  perfectly  right,  mon  amie"  inter- 
rupted the  sick  man,  clinching  the  fist  con- 
cealed by  the  India  shawl  spread  over  him, 


30  IS  THAT  ALL  t 

"  but  somehow  abstract  questions  fatigue  me 
most  of  all." 

"Pardon  me,  dear  !  " 

"  No,  pardon  me.  Here  I  am,  at  all  events, 
laid  flat  by  something  mighty ;  half  of  me 
lifeless,  and  the  other  half,  "upon  my  honor, 
Augusta,  so  horribly  racked  and  tormented  at 
times  —  " 

"Don't  I  know  it,  my  love?"  cried  Mrs. 
Augusta,  with  a  hearty  sob,  pressing  her  white 
handkerchief  violently  to  her  eyes  for  one 
instant,  then  springing  up  and  falling  upon 
him  with  a  score  of  earnest  kisses,  "  and  your 
patience  is  wonderful !  " 

"My  patience  is  not  to  be  mentioned,"  re- 
plied the  victim,  almost  sternly.  "I  suppose 
good  manners  help,  and  you  know  what  place 
they  occupy  in  my  thirty-nine  articles ;  but  I 
am  so  profoundly  convinced  that  I  have  just 
what  I  deserve,  only  not  enough,  that  even  the 
fact  that  the  original  hurt  was  got  in  the  ser- 


JS  THAT  ALL?  31 


vice  of  my  country  seems  of  small  signif- 
icance. I  can  and  will  bear  whatever  is  com- 
ing, but  not  with  even  your  eyes  always  upon 
me." 

"  Better  mine  than  any  stranger's,  Alf." 

"No,  no,"  —  wearily. 

"You  do  not  think  me  a  good  nurse." 
,  "I  think,  my  admirable  darling,  that  there 
are  'diversities  of  gifts,'  as  Shakespeare  says." 

"  Shakespeare,  you  heathen !  It  was  St. 
Paul !  " 

"  C'est  dgal!  You  are  glorious  in  a  drawing- 
room  !  You  are  a  planetary  power  in  char- 
itable societies  1  And  I  don't  want  either  the 
rich  or  the  poor  to  suffer  and  go  astray  because 
I  am  tossing,  feverish,  in  the  lap  of  luxury  I 
I  don't  want  the  social  traditions  and  the  hos- 
pitable fame  of  this  house  to  perish  !  I  don't 
want  our  vigilant  rival  miles  ahead  of  us. 
And  when  it  comes  to  ministering  angels,  Gus, 
dear,  you  know  yourself  that  yours  are  not 


32  IS  THAT  ALL? 

exactly  the  noiseless  footfall  and  soft  gray 
gowns  of  fiction." 

"  I  can  wear  wiusey,  I  suppose,"  answered 
Augusta,  re-seating  herself  with  a  sigh,  which 
was  not  for  the  rich  black  silks,  which  she 
knew  became  her  best,  "  but "  —  with  a  gleam 
of  drollery  in  her  despair  — "  no  woman  ever 
tried  harder  to  pine  away  than  I  have  done  for 
a  year,  and  'tis  of  no  use  !  Winter  and  sum- 
mer accumulate  me  alike." 

"Thank  Heaven  ! "  said  the  Colonel  gallantly, 
"  I  glory  in  your  splendid  vitality  all  the  more, 
that  'tis  all  I  have  left  to  glory  in  !  " 

"Do  you  mean,  Alfred,  that  you  never  ex- 
pect to  be  well?" 

"  The  Lord  only  knows  what  I  shall  be," 
came  the  answer  at  last,  with  sharp  impatience. 
"I  know,  as  I  say,  that  I  have  less  than  my 
share,  if  I  never  recover.  To  think  of  what  I 
have  seen  happen  to  men  I " 

w  You  are  very  tired,  now." 


IS   TEAT  ALL  t  33 

KI  am  in  an  agony,  an'  it  please  you  !  And 
in  Heaven's  name,  why  won't  you  open  that 
door  where  somebody  has  been  pounding  so 
long?" 

The  timid  tap  had  been  inaudible  to  Mrs. 
Augusta,  who  rose  with  a  slight  flush,  and  re- 
ceived a  half-dozen  letters  from  the  hands  of 
a  new  maid,  who  as  yet  stood  in  great  awe 
both  of  her  master  and  mistress.  But  when 
the  lady  turned  her  to  the  couch  again,  its 
occupant  said  sweetly,  — 

"I  am  a  brute,  Gus,  dear,  and  you  must 
feel  the  justice  of  all  I  have  said."  And  he 
stretched  out  his  hand  to  her  with  a  smile, 
which  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes  again,  and 
made  her  feel  that  the  wayward  love  of  the 
wreck  of  him  was  the  most  precious  treasure 

•  • 

a  woman  ever  owned.     "Can  you  sleep,"  she 
said,  "while  I  read  my  letters?" 

wOf  course  I  can,  if  you  bid  me;"  and 
Augusta  was  already  too  deep  in  her  first 


34  IS  THAT  ALL  t 

missive   to   feel    all    the    mild    irony    of   his 
reply. 

Number  one  proved  unimportant.  Number 
two  was  a  summons  to  the  annual  meeting  of 
one  of  the  many  societies  of  which  Mrs.  Pryor 
was  an  active  member.  Number  three  was  an 
application  for  admission  to  the  Old  Ladies' 
Home,  of  which  she  was  president.  Number 
four,  an  amazing  bill  for  the  books  which  she 
had  from  time  to  time  ordered  sent  to  the 
Mineral  Springs,  where  they  had  passed  their 
weariful  summer.  Number  five  detained,  and 
finally  absorbed  her.  It  was  from  an  intimate 
friend  of  hers  in  former  days,  now  an  active 
and  distinguished  citizeness  of  a  larger  city 
than  Guildford,  and  this  was  the  pregnant 
passage :  — 

"And  now,  my  child,  I  wish  to  bespeak 
your  attention  to  my  last  protdgfe,  the  most 
interesting  creature  under  heaven.  Don't  tell 


IS   THAT  ALLt  35 


me  that  you  cannot  spare  a  thought  from  your 
husband  !  If  our  elegant  Colonel  is  to  remain 
a  cripple,  —  which  Heaven  forbid!  I  declare 
the  thought  is  maddening !  —  the  very  worst 
thing  you  can  do  is  to  sit  on  the  end  of  his 
sofa  and  mope.  I  don't  know  which  it  would 
harm  more,  —  you  or  him.  Least  of  all  ought 
you  to  abstain  from  deeds  of  charity ;  so  hear 
about  my  little  girl,  and  consider  what  you 
can  do  for  her. 

"I  found  her  up  at  Franconia,  where  we 
spent  July  and  August.  Mrs.  Bellamy  Griffin 
had  her  as  a  sort  of  nursery-governess  to  those 
scrawny  twins  of  hers.  She  came  in  answer 
to  an  advertisement,  and  was  too  inexperienced 
to  know  that  she  needed  recommendations,  so 
Mrs.  B.  G.,  with  her  usual  luck,  got  a  treasure 
very  cheap.  Her  French  is  delicious,  and  her 
music, — but  of  that  by  and  by.  She  isn't 
pretty,  but  has  an  unusual  sort  of  face,  and 
her  manners  are  captivating.  Mrs.  Griffin  was 


36  IS  THAT  ALL? 


already  so  jealous,  and  afraid  somebody  would 
steal  her  prize,  that  I  had  the  greatest  difficulty 
in  approaching  her;  but  I  was  resolute,  and 
at  last  got  my  way,  and  extracted  from  the 
poor  little  thing  a  confession  of  her  suffer- 
ings- 

"Mrs.  G.  was  working  her  to  death,  and  even 
those  hideous  wenches  were  authorized  to  snub 
her.  She  had  taken  the  place  as  the  first  thing 
that  offered,  because  she  was  in  extremity. 
She  is  a  widow,  though  only  twenty-three,  and 
her  name  is  Hortense  Drown.  Her  husband 
left  no  money,  and  all  her  other  relatives  (if  a 
husband  is  a  relative ;  I  know  some  are  abso- 
lute, or  assume  to  be  so  !)  are  away  in  Aus- 
tralia, or  somewhere  at  the  world's  end. 

"What  she  wants  is  to  support  herself  by 
teaching  music,  or  by  public  readings.  Your 
heart  will  die  within  you  at  that  word,  think- 
ing of  all  the  torments  we  have  undergone, 
both  in  public  and  in  private,  from  professed 


IS   TEAT  ALL? 


37 


readers,  but  this,  I  assure  you,  is  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing.  I  fairly  coerced  the  Griffin,  who 
was  as  mad  as  any  mediaeval  one  about  it,  to 
let  Mrs.  Drown  read  one  evening  in  the  parlors 
of  the  hotel,  and  everybody  was  electrified. 
No  rant ;  just  dramatic  enough,  exquisite  intel- 
ligence, intense  feeling  perfectly  commanded, 
and  such  a  voice  !  I'm  not  entirely  sure  about 
its  being  powerful  enough  for  a  hall,  but  for 
a  drawing-room,  nothing  could  be  more  ravish- 
ing. 

w  She  would  be  priceless  at  your  receptions, 
if  you  resume  them,  which  I  hope  and  pray 
you  may  have  the  courage  and  good  sense  to 
do  !  She  herself  had  conceived  the  very  sen- 
sible idea  that  the  best  place  for  her,  as  a 
music-teacher,  would  be  some  moderate-sized 
provincial  city  (excuse  me  !),  where  there  are 
wealthy  people,  but  not  a  great  many  teachers 
of  accomplishments.  I  think  her  piano-playing 
pretty  good,  but  not  first-rate  ;  she  might  have 


38  IS  THAT  ALL? 


young  pupils,    but  her  reading   is   the   main 
point. 

"What  I  want  is,  that  you  should  ask  her  to 
Guildford,  and  just  hear  her  once,  and  I  feel  as 
if  her  fortune  would  be  made.  The  Colonel 
would  not  object,  I  am  sure,  he  is  so  infinitely 
kind-hearted.  And  perhaps  she  might  even 
afford  him  some  distraction.  Pray  write  me 
just  how  he  is  since  your  return.  I  am  sum- 
moned. Yours  in  haste, 

"LAURA  THAYER  WYLLYS. 

"P.S. — I  ought  perhaps  to  say  that  Peter, 
my  husband,  with  his  wonted  magnanimity, 
keeps  insinuating  that  I  know  very  little  about 
Mrs.  Drown.  In  reality,  she  is  open  as  the 
day,  and  her  face  and  speech  ought  to  be  suffi- 
cient passports  anywhere.  Peter  has  just  lost 
$15,000  in  a  Western  railway  —  why  did  he 
put  it  there  ?  I  always  charged  him  not !  — 
and  the  consequence  is  that  he  apprehends  the 


IS  THAT  ALL? 


39 


almshouse,  and  hasn't   a   good  yrord   for  any 
creature." 

Mrs.  Pry  or  was  interested.  For  two  mo- 
ments, while  she  read,  she  forgot  even  her 
Alfred,  —  a  thing  which  she  would  indignantly 
have  declared  impossible  an  hour  before.  Mrs. 
Wyllys  had  in  fact  appealed  to  her  two  prin- 
cipal foibles, — patronage,  and  the  desire  to 
create  a  social  sensation.  She  had  fancied 
these  and  all  other  vanities  dead  within  her, 
since  the  husband,  to  whose  versatile  gifts  and 
personal  fascination  she  had  always  felt  her 
fame  so  largely  due,  had  been  stricken  and 
confined.  Perhaps  the  very  purest  part  of  the 
pride  she  had  taken  in  her  position,  had  been 
the  feeling  that  it  was  the  joint  conquest  and 
dual  realm  of  Alfred  and  herself;  and  much 
of  what  is  best  and  worst  in  conventional 
womanhood,  mingled  in  her  feeling  of  trium- 
phant advantage  over  Mrs.  Anderson,  because 


40  IS   THAT  ALL  f 

her  rival  was  notoriously  unhappy  and  incom* 
prise  in  her  domestic  relations. 

To  be  sure,  Mrs.  Anderson  had  an  exquis- 
itely pretty  daughter,  the  sight  of  whom  did 
sometimes  give  Augusta  a  pang,  for  she  and 
Alfred  were  childless  ;  but  on  the  whole  Mrs. 
Pryor  felt  in  her  perfect  harmony  with  her 
husband,  and  their  frank  toleration  of  one 
another's  vagaries,  a  tower  of  strength.  And 
now  the  Greek-godlike  physique,  in  whose 
aspect  she  had  exulted,  seemed  threatened  with 
irretrievable  ruin,  although  life  might  linger  in 
it  for  many  an  agonizing  year;  and  never, 
until  this  hour,  had  the  wife  suffered  herself  to 
doubt  that  the  world  was  over  for  her,  and  her 
true  place  at  the  sufferer's  side,  until  it  might 
perhaps  please  Heaven  (for  her  scepticism  was, 
after  all,  almost  pathetically  shallow)  to  amend 
his  case. 

But  the  world,  it  seemed,  and  one's  respon- 
sibilities in  it,  were  not  to  be  .set  aside  so 


IS  THAT  ALL?  41 

easily.  Her  husband  himself  was  tiring  of 
her  too  anxious  and  sympathetic  supervision, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  the  sort  of  appeal  was 
coming  to  her  from  without,  to  which  she  had 
ever  in  the  past  been  so  ready  to  respond. 
She  looked  up,  longing  to  lay  the  concrete 
case  before  her  lord,  but  his  eyes  were  closed, 
and  his  pallor  smote  her.  Then  she  sighed 
and  re-read  the  letter,  and  was  so  fired  by  a 
sudden  vision  she  had  of  a  sort  of  pre-Rapha- 
elite  woman  in  an  ivory-white  silk,  sitting  in 
one  of  the  tall  carved  chairs  below,  and  read- 
ing Rossetti  to  a  discriminating  audience,  that 
she  spoke  before  she  thought:  '  "Alfred,  just 
hear  this ! " 

He  opened  his  eyes  wide,  with  a  very  natu- 
ral gleam  of  fun  in  them.  "Read  on,  love," 
he  said,  with  soft  reproach.  "Why  did  you 
keep  it  from  me  so  long?"  And  Mrs.  "Wyl- 
lys'  letter  followed,  postscript  and  all,  with  the 
omission  of  one  passage. 


42  IS  THAT  ALL? 

"Now,  what,"  said  Mrs.  Augusta,  "ought  I 
to  do?" 

"Oh,  have  her  here,  by  all  means  !" 

"But  if  I  do,  I  must  arrange  an  evening  for 
her,  and  I  cannot  have  a  party  in  this  house 
with  you  here  !  It  would  be  cruel  and  scanda- 
lous and  impossible !  " 

"Never  you  mind  the  scandal,  and  I  won't 
mind  the  cruelty.  Don't  you  see,  mon  amie, 
it  is  exactly  what  I  have  been  urging  ?  I  call 
it  one  of  Rose  Anderson's  own  'providences.' " 

"But  you  observe,"  said  Augusta,  with  reso- 
lute fairness,  "that  Peter  Wyllys  appears  to 
distrust  her.  Not  that  I  think  much  of  that. 
He  is  always  so  cantankerous." 

"  Exactly !  and  won't  listen  to  reason  about 
his  investments  !  But  it's  my  belief  you  had 
better  warm  a  viper  or  two  than  be  forever 
embracing  rny  remains." 

"  Oh,  Alfred !  you  pretend  to  be  heartless, 
and  I  believe  you  really  think  me  so  I " 


IS  THAT  ALL? 


43 


"Never  ! "  he  answered,  with  the  sudden  and 
sincere  gravity  which  was  always  so  impressive 
in  him ;  "  but  I  think,  my  darling,  that  your 
only  fair  chance  of  happiness,  this  winter,  is 
to  fill  your  great  heart,  as  you  have  always 
done  hitherto,  with  a  hundred  active  interests 
and  cares.  Yes,  and  your  great  house  too,  if 
you  will !  Put  this  girlish  widow,  whom  I'm 
rather  impatient  to  see,  in  the  south  chamber, 
and  a  French  marquis  or  a  converted  Brahmin 
in  the  north  wing,  and  fill  in  with  the  superflu- 
ous old  ladies  for  whom  there  is  no  room  at 
the  Home,  and  come  to  me  now  and  then,  in 
my  lucid  intervals,  and  tell  me  how  they  hit  it 
off.  But  don't  make  me  insist,  or  I  shall  turn 
savage  in  a  minute  ! " 

She  rose,  half  yielding,  and  wholly  in  love 
with  her  husband,  and  made  as  if  she  would 
kiss  him  again.  Could  it  be  that  he  forestalled 
her? 


44  IS   THAT  ALL? 


"Hark!"  he  said,  "is  not  that  Belle  Rae's 
voice  iu  the  hall?" 

"How  strangely  acute  your  hearing  is,  Alf 
dear.  I  will  see." 

"Let  her  come  up,  if  you  like,"  he  said. 
"  Her  poses  tranquillize  me." 

"  With  all  my  heart !  The  longer  she  will 
pose  for  you  the  better  I  shall  like  it.  To  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  have  thought  her  rather  unin- 
teresting lately." 


CHAP.   III. 

AN  ANGEL  UNAWARES. 

IV  yTRS.  ANDERSON  had  been  Rose  Merri- 
-*-*-*•  vale,  famous  as  a  metropolitan  belle  a 
certain  number  of  years  before.  She  never 
told  her  age,  but  concealment  did  not  appear 
to  prey  upon  her.  Her  beautiful  daughter 
was,  at  least,  eighteen  ;  but  Mrs.  Anderson 
looked  so  much  like  her,  and  so  little  her 
senior,  that  they  were  really  sometimes  mis- 
taken for  one  another,  and  malicious  people 
said  that  no  one  was  more  prone  to  the  mis- 
take than  Mrs.  Anderson  herself.  "And  how 
is  your  mother,  dear  ?  "  said  an  old  and  stately 
friend  of  the  family,  on  whom  Mrs.  Anderson 
had  called,  at  a  watering-place,  the  previous 
summer.  "Thanks!"  was  the  reply,  "I  am 

45 


46  IS  THAT  ALL? 

my  mother."  Mrs.  Anderson  was  rather  proud 
of  this  mot,  and  liked  to  have  it  repeated. 
She  did  not  know  that  the  old  lady  had  abused 
her  sharply  after  she  left,  both  for  saying 
"  thanks,"  and  for  wearing  a  round  hat  and  a 
masque-veil.  "Vulgar,  girlish  affectations!  " 
had  been  her  withering  sentence.  Mrs.  An- 
derson had  relatives  who  felt  authorized  to  use  the 
former  and  more  offensive  adjective  freely  with 
regard  to  her  arrangements. 

She  had  married  a  man  imich  older  than  her- 
self, who  had  not  been  able  to  establish  her  on 
River  Avenue,  but  only  to  build  a  spacious 
museum  of  modern  improvements,  gorgeous 
•with  hard  wood  and  fresco,  on  a  corner  lot  in 
Second  Street,  nor  did  he  ever  come  quite  to 
understand  why  she  should  have  accepted  that 
residence  with  ostentatious  resignation. 

Certainly  Seth  Anderson  was  not  a  person 
of  delicate  perceptions.  He  was  practically 


IS   THAT  ALLt  47 


rather  indulgent  to  his  pretty  wife  in  matters 
of  expenditure,  but  he  had  a  habit  of  perpetiir 
ally  twitching  the  purse-strings,  as  bad  drivers 
do  their  reins,  by  way  of  keeping  ever  in  her 
mind  where  the  authority  lay.  She  had  had 
him  made  a  churchwarden,  and,  though  the 
mildest  honors  were  dear  to  him,  he  grumbled 
much  over  the  heavy  charities  which  were 
required  to  maintain  their  leading  position  at 
St.  Saviour's. 

The  portly  rector  of  that  important  parish 
had  been  with  Mrs.  Anderson  all  the  morning 
of  the  day  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pry  or  held 
converse  as  you  know.  Mr.  Anderson  being 
absent  for  two  days  at  the  metropolis,  Dr. 
Price  had  remained  to  lunch,  to  which  Miss 
Lilian  Anderson  had  descended  late  from  her 
lofty  little  sitting-room,  cold,  and  mute,  and 
lovely,  bestowing  upon  the  good  Doctor,  as  she 
entered,  the  haughtiest  and  most  artificial  of 
dancing-school  bows,  and  watching  her 'mamma 


48  IS  THAT  ALL  t 


while  she  dispensed  sandwiches  and  urged  the 
sherry  with  starry  blue  eyes  of  alert  observa- 
tion. The  contrast  between  her  style  of  man- 
ners and  her  style  of  beauty,  which  was  pre- 
cisely that  of  one  of  Fra  Angelico's  angels, 
moved  the  really  genial  soul  who  faced  her  to 
some  inward  amusement  and  a  touch  of  com 
puuction  ;  but  when  he  had  taken  his  courtly 
leave,  her  mother  began  to  remonstrate. 

"  My  darling,  how  could  you  treat  the  dear 
Doctor  so  rudely  ?  " 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense,  mamma  !  "  replied  Miss 
Lily,  in  the  blunt  Saxon  which  leaped  so 
lightly  from  her  saintly  lips.  "  I  want  to  know 
what  he  was  here  for  ?  " 

wMy  child,  a  thousand  things  !  We  have  so 
much  to  consider  at  the  beginning  of  what 


must  be  so  hard  a  winter,  and  }^ou  know  how 
the  Doctor  depends  upon  my  co-operation." 
**  I  know  how  dearly  poor  papsy  has  to  pay 


IS   THAT  ALL?  49 


for  your  arrangements ;  but  who  is  to  be  Dr. 
Price's  assistant,  mamma?" 

Mrs.  Anderson  perceived  that  an  engage- 
ment was  inevitable,  and  began  rapidly  to  mass 
her  forces.  "I  don't  know,  Lily,"  she  said 
with  some  dignity,  "that  you,  as  a  young  lady, 
have  any  special  interest  in  that  question." 

"  Oh,  but  indeed  I  have  1  you  have  always 
urged  me  to  interest  myself  in  church  matters, 
and  now  I  am  beginning  to  do  so.  And  I 
know  quite  well,  mamma,  who  has  the  best 
right  to  the  place,  and  almost  the  promise  of 
it." 

" Nobody  has  either  right  or  promise,  child. 
The  Doctor  will  of  course  have  the  person 
whom  he  thinks  most  likely  to  promote  the 
welfare  of  the  parish ;  and  if  Mr.  Warburton 
is  willing,  for  the  sake  of  the  good  he  may 
do,  to  occupy,  for  a  time,  a  subordinate  posi- 
tion- •" 

"Mr.   Warburton,  mamma?    That  brawny 
4 


50  18  THAT  ALL? 

Englishman?"  and  the  young  lady  raised  her 
violet  eyes  to  the  lofty  ceiling,  and  looked 
like  a  Madonna  in  a  trance. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  braivny, 
Lily.  Mr.  Warburton  is  a  young  gentleman 
of  the  very  highest  breeding,  —  a  specimen  of 
a  class  whom  we  very  seldom  have  domesti- 
cated among  us.  He  is  an  ordained  clergyman 
of  the  Church.  His  uncle  is  a  bishop.  He 
came  here  to  study  the  condition  of  the  poor 
in  our  great  cities  —  " 

"Then  why  don't  he  stay  in  our  great  cities, 
and  study  the  poor?  He  seems  to  me  to 
prefer  living  on  the  rich  in  our  little  cities. 
And  so  Charley  is  to  be  thrown  over  for 
him ! " 

"Lily,  you  amaze  me  I  How  dare  you  talk 
of  Charley  and  throwing  over?"  How  can  I 
ever  forgive  myself  for  allowing  Charles  Mason 
to  come  here  so  familiarly  ?  " 

w  I  think  it  was  by  way  of  doing  good  you 


IS  THAT  ALLt  51 


had  him,  mamma.  You  acted  for  the  best,  and 
could  not  foresee  the  consequences.  Only  you 
need  not  have  deceived  him  about  coming  back. 
Uncle  Bishop  might  easily  have  provided  for 
Mr.  Warburtou,  but  Charley  —  " 

"  I  forbid  you're  calling  him  Charley  ! " 
"Excuse  me,  mamma,  but  why?    Are  we 
not  cousins  ?  " 

"  Second  cousins  only.  No  relationship  worth 
mentioning." 

"No,  mamma  —  first  cousins,  once  removed. 
Mr.  TVarburton  himself  told  me  that  they  name 
the  relationship  so  in  England.  Do  you  know, 
mamma,  he  seems  to  me  an  odd  sort  of  mis- 
sionary ?  " 

"  He  is  a  young  gentleman  —  " 
"  Young  !     He's  thirty,  if  he's  a  day  I  " 
w  —  Whom  it  is  a  rare  privilege  for  you  to 
meet." 

WI  hope  it  may  be   a  very  rare   privilege 


52  18  THAT  ALLt 


indeed,  this  winter.     Now  I  must  go   to   my 
music-lesson.     Good-by,  mamma  !  " 

But  midway,  in  the  adjustment  of  her  mirac- 
ulous hat,  this  pert  young  person  paused, 
darted  to  her  Davenport,  and  scrawled  the 
following  succinct  note,  in  the  large,  rapid 
hand  aifected  by  the  blonde  angel  of  the 
period :  — 

"DEAR  C. :  —  Don't  set  your  heart  on  the 
place  at  St.  Saviour's.  Mamma  is  plotting 
with  Dr.  Price  to  have  that  Englishman,  whom 
you  saw  at  the  orchard-party  in  September. 
You  thought  he  could  not  be  a  clergyman, 
but  he  is,  very  much  so  indeed  ;  and  I'm  afraid 
it's  all  over.  You  know  I  am  sorry. 

"Yours  always,  L." 

As  the  young  lady  poised  this  missive  in  her 
slim,  gloved  hand,  ready  for  a  dexterous  shot 
into  the  slit  of  the  next  public  mail-box,  she 


IS  THAT  ALL?  53 


was  aware  of  swift  and  mighty  footsteps  just 
around  the  corner,  and  the  shadow  of  a  lifted 
hat  on  the  pavement  at  her  feet,  and  looking  up 
she  received  a  bow  —  which  she  had  the  taste 
to  admire,  and  resolved  that  Charley  should 
learn — from  a  fair  man  of  excellent  though 
unusually  large  proportions,  and  an  air  of  un- 
qualified distinction.  Her  acknowledgment 
of  the  salute  was  slight  enough,  and  she  re- 
ceded half  a  step  as  if  to  facilitate  his  passing, 
but  his  own  intentions  appeared  doubtful.  He 
halted,  and  murmured  that  the  day  was  fine. 

**It  is  very  cold,  I  think,"  said  Miss  Ander- 
son, with  an  air  of  politely  smothered  intent- 
ness  upon  her  destination. 

"Ah,  yes !  Of  course !  Expected  in  the 
States  at  this  season.  Don't  let  me  detain 
you.  Would  you  mind  telling  me  if  I  should 
find  Mrs.  Anderson  at  home  just  now?" 

"  Mamma  was  there  when  I  left,"  the  young 
lady  answered,  sweeping  onward  with  an  ex- 


54  IS  THAT  ALL? 


ceedingly  oblique  bow.  Midway  of  the  next 
block  she  met  Emily  Kichards. 

"Was  not  that,"  inquired  this  observant 
youug  woman,  "the  noble  Briton?  And  they 
say  he  is  actually  to  remain  here  this  winter,  ill 
benighted  Guildford,  and  hold  mission  ser- 
vices, and  help  Dr.  Price  generally.  Why,  it 
will  be  as  good  as  a  curate  in  a  novel  I  Is  it 
not  wonderful,  the  way 'our  pleasures  are  pro- 
vided for?  Why,  as  our  rector  observes,  do 
we  ever  despond  ?  A  live  English  gentleman 
and  philanthropist  is  furnished  us,  just  as  we 
hear  that  Col.  Pry  or  will  not  go  out  this  win- 
ter !  Is  it  not  sad  that  the  dear  Colonel  is  no 
better?  But  I  forgot,  Lily,  that  you  hate  him. 
Tell  me,  however,  is  this  true  about  milord? 
You  know,  of  course  I  "  And  Miss  Richards 
took  breath. 

"Who  says  it?"  demanded  Lily. 

"Who  says  everything?  The  Faxons,  natu- 
rally, and  George  Aspinwall.  The  rest  of  us 


IS  THAT  ALLf  55 


are  but  base  imitators  of  them.  Heavens, 
Lily  !  What  makes  you  look  so  wrathful  ?  " 

"  Oh  !"  replied  the  young  lady,  resuming  her 
seraphic  expression.  w  I'm  cross.  Yes  "  — 
with  a  sigh  —  K I  suppose  it  is  true." 

Meanwhile  the  athlete  strode  onward,  and 
Mrs.  Anderson,  who  had  retired  in  some  dis- 
turbance of  mind  to  her  own  little  boudoir, 
saw  him  coming  from  its  commanding  bow- 
window,  and  was  glad.  She  took  his  card 
with  a  smile,  paused  only  to  throw  a  fleecy 
white  shawl  over  her  blue-silk-clad  shoulders 
—  for  the  November  day  had  darkened,  and 
was  really  chill,  and  fires  had  not  yet  all  their 
winter  fervor  —  and  was  presently  bidding  him 
welcome  in  her  drawing-room  with  all  the  soft 
and  easy  cordiality  peculiar  to  her  manner  as 
a  hostess.  She  was  even  good  enough  to 
reproach  him  with  not  coming  to  lunch. 

w  Many  thanks  !  "  replied  the  young  English* 


56  IS  THAT  ALL? 

man,  dropping  his  fine  eyes  for  an  instant, 
"but  I  was  engaged  elsewhere." 

His  modesty  gave  her  an  undefined  notion 
that  he  had  been  "prospecting"  in  the  unsavory 
districts  which  were  to  be  the  principal  scene 
of  his  enlightened  labors;  and  "how  easily," 
she  reflected,  "does  philanthropy  sit  on  a  man 
of  his  traditions  ! " 

"I  need  not  tell  you,"  she  said,  with  her 
justly  celebrated  smile,  as  she  dropped  into  a 
low  arm-chair  and  admired  the  careless  ease 
with  which  her  visitor  appropriated  a  small 
sofa  to  his  long  person,  and  flung  his  white 
hand  over  the  satin  arm,  "  I  need  not  tell  you 
how  deeply  grateful  I  felt,  this  morning,  when 
our  good  rector  told  me  that  you  had  almost 
consented  to  remain  with  us  this  winter.  You 
will  lighten  the  dear  man's  labors,  and  give 
him  the  benefit  of  your  practical  experience, 
in  this  immense  and  difficult  parish  of  his.  It 


IS  THAT  ALL?  57 


seems  an  extraordinary  sacrifice  for  a  man  in 
your  position." 

"  Do  not  mention  that,"  said  Mr.  Warburton 
with  a  faint  blush,  which  became  his  fair  coun- 
tenance well. 

"But  since  you  have  given  your  life  to  this 
good  work,  and  are  here  in  America  partly 
for  the  purpose  —  " 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Warburton,  with  becoming 
gravity,  "I  have  seen  something  of  the  English 
poor." 

"You  held  a  London  curacy,  I  think?" 

"I  worked  in  a  city  parish  for  two  years. 
I  have  seen  sights  there  such  as  I  shall  not 
see  in  Guildford,  I  fancy." 

"You  really  think  the  condition  of  our  poor 
less  wretched  than  your  own  ?  " 

"In  a  place  like  Guildford,  undoubtedly. 
Perhaps  they  are  as  badly  off  in  }^our  largest 
cities  and  great  manufacturing  towns." 

"It  is  a  noble  work ! "  sighed  Mrs.'  Ander- 


58  IS  THAT  ALL? 

son,  vaguely  enthusiastic,  and  fixing  her  fine 
eyes  on  her  guest  with  a  look  of  complete 
and  rather  affecting  appreciation,  "but  we 
shall  try  to  make  your  sojourn  among  us  as 
tolerable  as  possible,  and  not  to  let  you  feel 
yourself  too  much  an  exile." 

"  Oh,  I  like  America,"  said  the  young  man, 
"and  the  Americans.  They  seem  uncommonly 
civil  and  cordial  to  strangers." 

"Not  to  all,  I  fear,"  replied  the  lady,  with  an 
emphasis  which  was  obviously  flattering.  "  Or 
rather,"  she  added,  "I  ought  to  say,  that  I  hope 
we  are  beginning  to  discriminate  a  little  among 
those  whom  we  receive  into  our  homes  and  our 
hearts.  Our  reckless  hospitality  in  the  past, 
has  been  a  positive  foible.  We  have  welcomed 
every  one,  almost,  without  inquiry ;  and  you 
would  never  believe,  my  dear  Mr.  Warburtou, 
how  fearfully  we  have  been  imposed  upon  !  " 

"Ah,  how  so?" 

"  By  foreigners,  who  have  come  to  us  under 


IS   THAT  ALLt  59 


false  pretences.  You  must  know  that  every- 
thing connected  with  the  Old  World  has  really 
been  so  fascinating  to  us  ;  and  especially  every- 
thing which  seemed  to  savor  of  that  social  state 
and  dignity  which  our  forefathers  renounced 
for  us  "  — 

Mrs.  Anderson  became  conscious  that  she 
was  confounding  our  forefathers  with  our  god- 
fathers, and  paused,  a  little  bewildered ;  but 
her  guest  seemed  to  divine  her  meaning. 

"  Ah,  I  see ;  noblemen,  and  that  sort  of  thing. 
You  mean  that  persons  have  assumed  titles 
which  did  not  belong  them.  I  should  say  they 
would  be  much  more  likely  to  drop  those  they 
have ;  for  you  know,  Mrs.  Anderson,  more 
or  less  of  those  fellows  are  really  coming  here 
DOW.  They  are  curious  to  see  the  country 
which  did  not  go  to  pieces  when  they  ex- 
pected." 

"And  desired,  —  is  it  not  so ?    Ah,  Mr.  "War- 


60  18  THAT  ALL? 

burton,  you  \verc  rather  cruel  to  us  during  the 
war ! " 

"I  admit  that  we  were  unfair  to  the  North.  A 
good  deal  of  twaddle  was  talked  about  South- 
ern chivalry,  and  nobody  took  the  trouble  to 
question  it,  —  I  mean  among  gentlemen .  There 
were  plenty  of  cads  who  were  fierce  in  your 
behalf,  as  I  can  testify.  But  we  see  our  blun- 
der now,  and  are  ready  to  make  you  our  most 
dogged  apology." 

"It  is  quite  unnecessary,  I  assure  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Anderson  sweetly.  "You  and  I,  at  least, 
my  dear  Mr.  Warburton,  have  had  no  quarrel. 
And  I  ought  perhaps  to  say,"  she  added,  out 
of  the  lady-like  instinct  which  was  really  in  her, 
and  only  overlaid  by  her  innocent  affectations, 
w  that  when  I  spoke  of  being  deceived,  I  did 
not  mean  merely  with  regard  to  the  rank  of 
the  strangers  who  visit  us,  but  their  actual 
character.  It  has  sometimes  seemed  as  if  no 
foreigner  ever  came  here,  who  did  not  ulti- 


IS   THAT  ALL?  6l 


mately  prove  to  be  under  some  sort  of  cloud. 
And  this  is  "why,"  she  pursued,  with  her 
utmost  warmth  of  accent  and  radiance  of  ex- 
pression, "  we  are  so  particularly  happy  to 
welcome  one  whose  credentials  are  unquestion- 
able, and  the  self-devotion  of  whose  purposes 
puts  us  all  to  shame." 

Mr.  Warbttrtod  bowed.  w  You  are  very  good," 
he  said,  with  a  glimmer  of  his  white  teeth, 
"  and  I'm  very  lucky  not  to  be  confounded  with 
the  rascals.  As  to  rank,"  he  added,  smiling 
more  broadly,  "I'm  sorry  to  say  that  my  father 
is  a  baronet,  and  a  deucedly  poor  one,  —  par- 
don me  !  —  and  I'm  only  his  third  son." 

"Where  is  your  family  seat?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Anderson,  blandly  overlooking  the  unclerical 
adverb. 

"In  Sussex.  I  have  a  small  picture  of  the 
house  here.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  it." 
And  he  produced  from  a  pocket  a  lacquered 
case  and  a  six-inch  photograph,  which,  rising, 


62  IS  THAT  ALLf 

he  submitted  to  Mrs.  Anderson.  It  repre- 
sented an  ancient  stone  mansion,  with  a  drive 
and  a  grass-plat,  and  a  cedar  of  Lebanon,  and 
a  glimpse  of  some  fine  oaks,  at  a  little  distance, 
on  the  left. 

"How  very  English,  and  how  very  charm- 
ing!" cried  the  lady.  "Ah,  did  you  know 
that  you  gave  me  two  cards  ?  But  perhaps  I 
ought  not  to  have  seen  the  other,  Mr.  Wai-bur- 
ton," and  before  she  had  finished  the  words 
Mrs.  Anderson  had  received  an  impression  of 
an  exceedingly  picturesque  head,  with  a  sort 
of  Spanish  veil  thrown  over  it,  and  had  con- 
trived to  turn  the  carte  enough  to  see  that 
there  was  indeed  a  London  name  on  the 
reverse. 

Mr.  Warburton  certainly  looked  embar- 
rassed, and  stammered  more,  even,  than  is 
Anglican. 

w  Oh  !  — Ah  !  — I  did  not  know,  — I  believe 


IS  THAT  ALLt  63 


—  Allow  me,  madam.  Yes,  —  'tis  a  cousin  of 
mine,  but  'tis  of  no  consequence  ! " 

Mrs.  Anderson  politely  forebore  to  smile  at 
the  classic  quotation,  merely  observing,  as  she 
gave  up  the  card,  "  She,  at  least,  does  not  look 
English.  Spanish  rather,  or  Provencal.  Some- 
thing excessively  Latin.  How  odd  and  pretty 
that  drapery  is  1 " 

"Private  theatricals,"  the  young  man  ex- 
plained. "It  was  taken  in  character;"  but 
the  photograph  was  already  restored  to  its 
hiding-place. 

Mrs.  Anderson  made  a  passing  resolution 
not  to  forget  it;  but  she  thought  that  ingen- 
uous shyness  of  her  guest,  combined  with  so 
much  savoir  faire,  quite  captivating,  and  she 
gave  him  the  warmest  and  widest  of  invitations, 
when  presently  he  took  his  leave. 


CHAP.    IV. 

ANOTHER. 

A  MONTH  later,  on  the  second  week  in 
"*•  ^  December,  Augusta  Pryor  found  herself 
pledged  to  the  introduction  of  Mrs.  Drown. 
The  interesting  stranger  was,  in  fact,  expected 
that  very  evening,  and  Mrs.  Pryor  had  just 
been  superintending,  in  person,  the  last  touches 
of  preparation  in  the  cheery  bed-room  where 
the  wanderer  was  to  abide.  Now  it  had  oc- 
curred to  her  that  it  was  high  time  to  be 
writing  the  invitations  for  Mrs.  Drown's  read- 
ing; for  though  Guildford  was  not  strenuous 
about  a  whole  week's  notice,  it  always  liked 
some  days  to  obviate  other  engagements,  when 
an  evening  at  the  Pryors'  was  in  question. 

So  the  lady  of  the  house  was  now  sitting  in 

64 


IS   THAT  ALL?  65 

a  deep  alcove  of  the  library  with  a  quire  of 
cream-laid  paper  untouched  before  her,  and  a 
somewhat  heavy  heart.  Always  in  past  years, 
except  when  he  was  absent  in  the  army  — 
and  then  she  had  received  little  formal  com- 
pany— her  leisurely  lord  had  done  this  service 
for  her.  Everything  about  her  spoke  of  him  ; 
for  the  room  was  his  favorite.  The  curiously- 
convenient  writing-table,  at  which  she  sat,  he 
himself  had  designed.  Those  groups  of  little 
water-color  sketches  were  his  own  reminis- 
cences of  journeys  and  campaigns,  for  he  was 
clever  with  his  pencil.  The  binding  of  the 
books,  the  priceless  bric-a-brac,  the  rich,  deep 
shades  of  green  and  blue  that  were  blended  in 
the  walls  and  draperies,  were  all  the  expression 
of  his  fancy.  Above  the  generous  and  rather 
grandly-appointed  fireplace  hung  that  iron- 
ically handsome  portrait  of  herself  (so  Mrs. 
Augusta  thought),  every  stroke  of  which  he 
had  most  anxiously  superintended. 


66  IS   THAT  ALL  f 


And  here  she  was,  among  the  mementos  of 
his  taste,  beginning  to  live  the  old  life  without 
him.  The  old  life?  Oh,  no!  How  altered 
must  all  things  be  in  the  absence  of  that  bright 
and  versatile  spirit  which,  to  the  wife's  mind, 
had  animated  all.  For  a  moment,  her  sense  of 
loss  and  separation  had  the  bitterness  of  death 
itself.  "I  am  acting  as  if  he  were  dead,  and 
had  long  been  dead ; "  she  said  to  herself,  and 
the  poignant  sadness  of  the  thought  paralyzed 
even  her  energies.  When  presently  Annette, 
the  little  maid,  beginning  now  to  know  that 
her  mistress  was  not  always  as  awful  as  she 
appeared,  announced  Miss  Rae  and  Miss  Faxon, 
Mrs.  Pry  or,  although  she  frowned  a  little  at 
the  latter  name,  arose,  and  met  them  almost 
eagerly. 

"You  are  come  just  in  time  to  help  me, 
girls,"  she  said,  in  her  sovereign  way.  "Belle, 
my  dear,  you  know  I  am  unused  to  this  sort  of 
thing,  and  you  are  bcth  of  you  such  idle  crea- 


IS  THAT  ALLt  67 


tures.  Come  here,  and  write  my  invitations 
for  Mrs.  Drown's  reading  ! " 

"Oh,  not  I,  Mrs.  Pryor ! "  objected  Annie 
Faxon,  in  her  falsetto  tones  —  foolish,  but  ever 
voluble — "I  write  the  most  shocking  hand  !  " 

"It  will  answer,  I  dare  say,"  said  Mrs.  Au- 
gusta carelessly,  proceeding  to  make  another 
place  at  the  writing-table,  and  provide  a  sec- 
ond pen.  "Here  is  the  list.  The  simplest 
formula  possible,  Belle." 

"Oh,  really !  "  pursued  the  fatuous  Faxon, 
"you  must  excuse  ine;  I  should  so  like  to  be 
of  use,  but  I  have  an  engagement." 

"  Certainly,  Miss  Faxon.     And  you,  Isabel  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  dignified  Belle,  in  her  deliber- 
ate manner,  "I  have  none.  I  can  write." 

Then  she  drew  off  her  gloves,  and  laid  her 
fur  aside,  and  lifted  and  fingered,  with  some 
hesitation,  a  loosely-twisted  paper  which  she 
had  laid  upon  the  table.  "Here  are  some 
rather  choice  rosebuds." 


68  IS  THAT  ALLt 


"For  the  Colonel?"  inquired  Mrs.  Pryor, 
absently.  "  Yes,  I  will  take  them.  I  hear  his 
bell  now.  But  he  positively  complains,  some- 
times, that  he  is  half  suffocated  with  flower- 
scent." 

Miss  Faxon  laughed,  when  the  door  had 
closed  behind  the  departing  lady.  "Is  that 
what  you  call  gracious  and  tender?  "  she  asked. 
"  Overbearing  thing  !  What  a  goose  you  are, 
Belle,  to  slave  for  her  !  " 

"I  don't  see  any  slavery  in  writing  a  few 
notes  for  one  to  whom  we  are  all  so  much  in- 
debted. And  if  you  fancy  her  unfeeling,  it's 
because  you  don't  know  her.  She  was  ready 
to  cry  when  she  asked  us  to  write,  at  the 
thought  that  the  Colonel  used  to  do  all  this. 
That  was  why  she  was  so  abrupt." 

"  Nonsense !  Some  one  told  George  As- 
p  in  wall  that  Dr.  Witherspoon  said  that  Col. 
Pryor's  affection  was  almost  purely  nervous, 
and  immensely  aggravated  by  that  overpower- 


15  THAT  ALL  t  69 


ing  wife  of  his.  If  she  could  be  taken  away 
from  him,  they  said,  his  chance  would  be  much 
better." 

"I  would  not  tell  that  in  this  house,  if  I 
were  you,"  said  Miss  Rae,  with  rising  color. 
K  It  was  George  Aspinwall  who  used  to  insist 
that  the  Colonel  was  a  coward." 

Then  Miss  Faxon  took  her  leave  ;  and  Isabel 
wrote  for  an  hour,  carefully,  patiently,  ele- 
gantly. At  the  end  of  that  time  Mrs.  Pryor 
reappeared,  her  face  changed  and  bright,  and 
her  manner  at  its  warmest. 

"  You  dear  girl ! "  she  said  ;  w  what  a  deal 
you  have  done  !  How  can  I  thank  you  ?  And 
now  I  am  so  happy  and  encouraged  !  When 
Alfred  learned  that  you  were  here,  he  said  he 
would  like  you  to  come  and  read  to  him.  It 
is  weeks  since  he  has  been  able  to  hear  read- 
ing. If  he  can  listen  to  you,  it  will  be  a 
positive  gain.  And  then  you  will  stay  and 


70  IS   THAT  ALL  f 

dine  with  mo,  Isabel,  and  be  the  first  to  see 
the  prodigy." 

So  Miss  Rue  had  her  reward. 

Night  had  fallen,  and  snow  was  beginning  to 
fall,  stealthily,  but  thick  and  fast;  so  that 
when  Mrs.  Augusta,  startled  out  of  a  five  min- 
utes' re  very  at  the  library  fireside,  by  what 
seemed  the  sound  of  an  arrival  in  the  hall, 
arose,  and  herself  opened  the  door  of  the 
room,  she  was  met  by  the  impulsive  rush  of  a 
tiny  figure,  with  a  fleecy  powder  all  over  its 
black  garments,  and  large  eyes  of  so  singular 
a  lustre  that  it  looked,  even  to  the  uuromantic 
mind,  like  some  captured  spirit  of  the  winter 
night.  Augusta  opened  her  lips  for  her  well- 
prepared  greeting,  but  was  forestalled. 

"Ah,  it  is  Mrs.  Pryor  !"  exclaimed  the  sprite. 
"I  know  it !  Dear  madam,  will  you  not  speak 
to  the  hack  man?"  (She  made  two  words  of 
it.)  "I  cannot  tell  what  he  means,  and  he  is 
very  angry ! " 


IS   THAT  ALLf  71 


"Where  is  Grant?"  Mrs.  Pry  or  asked  of 
Annette,  whom  the  inside  man  had  left  in 
temporary  charge  of  the  hall-door ;  and  that 
functionary  reappearing  on  the  moment,  she 
bade  him  appease  the  indignant  orator  in  the 
vestibule,  whatever  his  grievance,  and  turn- 
ing again  to  her  guest,  said, — "And  this  is 
Mrs.  Drown?" 

w  Yes,  it  is  I,  and  so  cold !  May  I  not  go 
to  the  fire?"  She  was  full  of  gesture,  and 
stretched  out  her  morsels  of  hands  towards  the 
great  blaze  on  the  library  hearth,  as  she  spoke. 
K Ah,  this  is  good!  What  a  beautiful  room! 
It  is  not  like  an  American  room,  madam.  I 
think  I  am  far  away  !  " 

Mrs.  Pryor  began  to  be  fascinated.  w  Will 
you  not  rest  here  before  Annette  shows  your 
room?"  sho  said,  in  her  friendlier  tones  of 
welcome,  beginning  to  unfasten,  with  her  own 
hands,  the  damp  wrappings  of  the  stranger, 
and  feeling  herself  more  colossal  than  ever,  as 


72  IS  THAT  ALLf 

the  shape  of  a  veritable  fairy  was  revealed  in 
a  mourning-gown  of  heavy  stuff,  severely  plain 
in  fashion,  but  fitting  marvellously. 

"No,  I  will  go,"  answered  little  Mrs.  Drown, 
putting  up  her  hand  to  her  soft,  rippling  black 
hair.  "  You  are  kind.  Thank  you  ! "  she  added, 
like  a  child  who  remembers  its  manners,  "but 
I  am  never  tired.  When  shall  I  come  down 
again?" 

"  We  dine  in  half  an  hour,"  Mrs.  Pryor  ex- 
plained. 

"  And  that  is  good ! "  said  the  new-comer 
with  a  confiding  smile,  and  dropping  her  rather 
astonished  patroness  a  slight  courtesy  as  she 
turned  awa}',  "for  I  am  also  very  hungry." 

One  of  the  most  imperious  of  Mr.  Pryor's 
invalid  fancies  required  that  Augusta,  at  her 
solitary  meals,  should  suspend  nothing  of  their 
accustomed  table  ceremony.  When,  therefore, 
the  two  ladies  met  again,  and  were  joined  by 
Miss  Eae,  it  was  under  the  impartial  blaze  of 


IS   THAT  ALL?  73 


the  big  dining-room  chandelier.  Mrs.  Drown 
had  altered  the  arrangement  of  her  curling  hair, 
drawing  it  quaintly  to  the  very  top  of  her 
graceful  head  with  an  unusually  tall  comb,  as 
if  resolute  to  increase  her  height.  The  stiff, 
mannish  lines  of  linen  at  her  throat  and  wrists 
•were  also  immaculate,  and  by  contrast  with 
these,  one  saw  that  her  skin  was  very  brown. 
Her  nose  was  flat,  and  a  trifle  "tip-tilted."  Her 
lips  thin,  but  scarlet,  and  they  parted  over 
perfect  teeth ;  and  her  remarkable  eyes  — 
though  set  at  an  Oriental  angle,  and  of  a 
peculiar  light,  almost  yellowish  hue  —  sparkled 
with  vivid  intelligence. 

As  soon  as  they  were  seated,  and  the  soup 
passed,  the  hostess  turned  to  Miss  Rae.  "And 
the  reading,  Belle,"  she  said,  a  little  anxiously, 
w  how  did  it  prosper?  " 

Isabel  shook  her  head  slightly,  with  the 
deepening  color  which  constantly  annoyed  her- 


74  18  THAT  ALL? 

self,  and  was  indeed  a  little  incongruous  with 
her  proud  and  finished  manners. 

"The  Colonel  is  very  polite,  Mrs.  Pry  or,  and 
I  am  very  stupid,"  she  said  ingenuously,  "but 
I  did  discover  at  last  how  much  I  tired  him." 

"And  then"  (affectionately)  "I  suppose  he 
asked  you  to  sit  still  and  let  him  look  at  you?  " 

"It  is  very  absurd,"  said  Miss  Rae,  who  was 
not  in  the  least  vain,  yet  could  never  turn  a 
compliment  lightly,  "that  he  is  always  fancying 
me  like  some  picture  or  statue." 

"Have  you  been  abroad?"  Mrs.  Pry  or  turned 
to  say  to  the  stranger,  but  was  met  by  so  very 
inquisitive  a  look  of  the  lucid  eyes,  that  she 
began,  instead,  to  explain  her  husband's  help- 
less and  suffering  condition. 

Her  protege^  however,  interrupted  her. 

"I  know,  I  know,"  she  said,  "Mrs.  Wyllys 
told  me." 

The  rapid  nodding  of  her  small  head  seemed 
natural  and  graceful  as  that  of  a  flower  upon 


IS   THAT  ALL?  75 

the  stalk ;  yet  it  did  occur  to  Mrs.  Pryor 
that,  but  for  a  certain  oddity  and  exquisiteness 
in  the  creature,  she  would  have  thought  her  a 
little  rude.  And  the  impression  was  deepened 
when  Mrs.  Drown  turned  to  Isabel,  and  said 
abruptly,  — 

"You  do  not  modulate  your  tones.  I  mean," 
she  added  with  a  candid  air,  when  the  young 
lady  bent  on  her  a  look  of  some  amazement, 
but  did  not  answer,  "you  have  not  notes 
enough.  See  how  many  I  have  in  my  common 
talk ! "  (This  was  true,  although  neither  of 
her  auditors  was  sufficiently  musical  to  have 
noticed  it  before.)  "But  you  have  one  or  two 
only,  and  the  pitch  is  too  high.  That  is  why 
you  weary  the  sick  gentleman." 

She  paused  with  a  benignant  expression,  and 
then  added,  as  on  a  second  courteous  after- 
thought, "  Pardon  me,  miss  ! " 

"  Miss  Rac,"  said  the  hostess,  thinking  that 
she  hesitated  for  the  name.  And  then  her 


76  IS   THAT  ALL  t 


interrupted  question  recurred  to  her,  but  she 
put  it  in  an  altered  form. 

"You  must  have  lived  a  good  deal  abroad?" 

«  Always." 

" "Were  you  born  there?  Mrs.  Wyllys  said, 
or  I  fancied  she  said,  that  you  were  a  country- 
woman." 

"  Mrs.  Wyllys  did  not  ask,"  was  the  cheer- 
ful and  complete  reply,  on  which  there  ensued 
a  slightly  awkward  pause. 

It  was  the  new-comer  who  seemed  to  feel 
that  a  certain  stiffness  about  the  other  two 
made  it  incumbent  upon  her  to  reopen  con- 
versation, which  she  did  in  this  wise  : 

"I  have  always  thought  that  the  American 
ladies  pitch  the  voice  too  high.  It  is  a  great 
pit}7,  for  it  makes  unquiet  those  who  hear,  and 
it  injures  the  organ.  It  is  not  so  with  all. 
You,  madam,"  —  to  Mrs.  Pryor — "have  a  noblo 
contralto,  largo  and  rich,  but  still  too  monoto- 
nous. Why  not  more  variety?  A  low  pitch, 


IS  THAT  ALL  f  77 


and  yet  variety.  That  is  what  makes  the  voice 
in  speech  agreeable.  If  I  would  read  to  your 
suffering  husband,  rnadain,  you  should  see  that 
he  will  not  be  weary."  And  she  glanced  swiftly 
from  one  rather  irresponsive  lady  to  the  other, 
and  nodded  with  the  glimmer  of  a  smile.  "Va- 
riety of  tone  " —  she  repeated  — "  if  I  have  any- 
thing good  in  my  reading,  it  is  variety  of 
tone." 

"After  all,"  thought  Mrs.  Augusta,  "it  is 
rather  graceful  in  her  to  introduce  her  business 
in  this  way."  And,  lapsing  into  the  manner  of 
sympathetic  and  therefore  not  offensive  patron- 
age which  had  become  a  second  nature  to  her, 
:ihe  told  Mrs.  Drown  of  the  arrangements 
which  had  been  made  for  a  reading  in  her  own 
house,  before  the  elite  of  Guildford. 

Mrs.  Drown  was  thoroughly. simple  and  frank 
in  her  expressions  of  gratitude.  "You  are 
kind,  madam,"  she  said,  "and  I  shall  read  as 
well  as  possible.  And  then,  if  the  company 


78  IS   THAT  ALL? 

is  pleased,  they  will  perhaps  hear  me  again  in 
some  theatre  or  hall.  You  think  I  cannot  fill 
a  great  space,  because  I  am  so  petite,  but  you 
will  sec.  I  have  power.  And  do  you  know," 
she  continued,  engagingly,  "  what  I  desire  most 
of  all,  is  to  have  classes  —  of  ladies,  it  is  un- 
derstood —  and  to  teach  them  —  I  thiuk  it  is 
not  called  reading,  but — elocution." 

Mrs.  Pry  or  warmly  approved  this  plan,  and 
felt  her  faith  in  the  new-comer  reviving.  "  It 
would  not  be  surprising,"  she  said,  M  if  you 
found  a  number  of  pupils.  A  good  many  of 
us,  I  fancy,"  she  added,  turning  to  Isabel, 
"would  like  to  be  made  less  monotonous." 
And  she  was  almost  vexed  at  the  profoundly 
indifferent  manner  of  that  young  lady's  re- 
sponse. 

Dinner  being  over,  Miss  Eae  took  an  early 
leave ;  and  Augusta  lingered  with  her  for  a 
moment  in  the  little  reception-room,  where  she 
donned  her  wraps,  while  Grant  waited  in  the 


IS  THAT  ALL?  79 


hall  to  attend  her  to  her  home,  three  doors 
lower  down  on  the  Avenue.  "  What  an  odd 
creature  it  is,"  she  said,  "but  with  a  sort  of 
fascination ! " 

"  She  is  very  strange  indeed.  She  is  French, 
don't  you  think?" 

"A  foreigner,  evidently;  at  least  by  birth 
and  habitual  speech.  Her  idioms  are  un- 
English,  and  particularly  un-Yankee.  But  she 
is  extremely  piquante,  and  appears  to  have 
ideas.  I  anticipate  something  from  her  read- 
ing. I  must  make  Alfred  see  her.  I  should 
so  like  to  know  how  she  would  strike  him. 
Good-night,  my  dear  !  " 

And  Mrs.  Augusta  returned  to  the  library, 
where  she  found  her  other  guest  nearly  buried 
in  the  depths  of  the  Colonel's  favorite  loung- 
ing-chair.  Whereupon,  issuing  a  kind  but  ap- 
parently superfluous  command  that  the  small 
stranger  should  be  entirely  at  home,  she  apolo- 


80  18  THAT  ALL  f 

gized,  briefly,  for  herself  hastening  to  her 
husband. 

But  Mrs.  Drown,  when  she  was  left  alone, 
slid  out  from  amon<r  the  ibis-lined  velvet  cush- 

^_x 

ions,  patting  them  approvingly,  as  she  did  so, 
and  stepped  lightly  about  the  room,  exam- 
ining and  often  touching  the  curiosities,  and 
pausing,  from  time  to  time,  to  regard,  with 
much  content,  the  general  effect.  She  made  a 
similar  tour  of  her  bed-room,  when  left  alone 
in  that  for  the  night,  and  the  result  of  her 
reflections  was  this : 

"  It  is  a  fine  house,  and  a  good,  soft-hearted 
lady,  though  so  proud.  I  shall  stay  here  a 
long  time;  arid,  by  and  by,  I  will  see  the 
master." 


CHAP.  V. 

CHIEFLY  CHORAIi. 

reading,  at  Mrs.  Piyor's,  was  to  be  on 
Sunday  night.  Augusta  had  loug  ago 
appropriated  that  evening  for  a  variety  of  rea- 
sons. She  was  less  likely  then,  than  on  secular 
nights,  to  bo  interfered  with  by  the  plans  of 
others.  She  had,  I  must  confess,  a  rather 
childish  pleasure  in  proclaiming  her  own  and 
Alfred's  independence  of  Sabbatarian  preju- 
dices ;  and  she  did  not  regret  as  much  as  she 
ought  to  have  done  the  extreme  embarrassment 
which  her  whim  sometimes  occasioned  to  Mrs. 
Anderson  —  now  that  there  were  diplomatic 
relations  between  them  —  or  the  real  trouble 
of  conscience  entailed  upon  some  of  the  more 
serious-minded  of  that  lady's  immediate  follow- 
ing. 

6  81 


82  IS  THAT  ALL? 

On  the  present  occasion,  Mrs.  Rose  experi- 
enced unusual  perplexity.  "It  is  a  charitable 
occasion  in  a  way,"  she  said  to  her  daughter, 
"  and  therefore  I  think  I  ought  to  accept. 
Your  papa,  of  course,  will  do  as  he  likes,  but 
he  probably  will  not  go, — nor  will  you  cure 
for  it,  Lily.  And  Mr.  Warburton  certainty 
must  not." 

"Does  Mr.  Warburton  wish  it?"  inquired 
Lily,  with  the  utmost  width  of  her  violet  eyes. 

Now  Mr.  Warburton,  who  was  already  estab- 
lished with  Dr.  Price  at  St.  Saviour's,  had  rooms, 
of  course,  in  a  grim  boarding-house  upon  the 
hill.  But  he  passed  his  days,  that  is  to  say, 
his  leisure  hours,  at  the  Rectory,  and  at  Mrs. 
Anderson's ;  and  chiefly,  it  must  be  confessed, 
with  the  latter.  The  Doctor,  who  was  much 
absorbed  that  winter  in  cxegetical  studies,  bear- 
ing upon  his  famous  "Refutation  of  Colenso," 
thought  Mr.  Warburton  a  very  good  worker, 
and  Mrs.  Anderson  frequently  found  him  a 


IS   THAT  ALL  t  83 


most  appropriate  and  acceptable  escort  for 
Lilian  and  herself;  and  " liked,"  ns  she  said, 
"to  show  him  what  was  best"  in  "our  crude 
American  society."  He  had  shown  himself 
tolerant  of  crudity,  and  quite  willing,  on  the 
reopening  of  the  Pryor  mansion,  gracefully  to 
conform  to  the  customs  of  a  heathen  laud.  But 
Mrs.  Eose  knew,  that  though  all  things  may  be 
lawful  for  a  high-bred,  but  rather  low-church 
young  divine,  all  things  are  not  expedient; 
and,  in  her  softest  and  most  circuitous  fashion, 
she  had  told  him  so,  and  he  had  been  advised. 

But  Lily  was  less  docile.  She  was  totally 
indifferent  to  the  reading,  having  a  wholesome 
preference  for  dancing-parties ;  and,  oddly  co- 
existent with  that  frivolous  taste,  certain  ex- 
tremely private  leanings  toward  preternatural 
strictness.  She  had  once  heard  Mr.  Charles 
Mason,  then  a  student  at  the  suburban  college, 
say  that  the  Pryors  did  not  show  .their  usual 
good  taste  in  that  "aggressive  latitudiuarian- 


84  IS   THAT  ALLf 

isin"  of  theirs  ;  and  this  she  had  understood  to 
mean  the  Sunday  parties,  and  had  thought  it 
sounded  very  well.  Moreover,  one  of  her  own 
most  cherished  whims  had  long  been  —  as  Miss 
Richards  had  once  hinted  —  a  dislike  of  the 
idolized  Colonel.  But  the  Colonel  would  cer- 
tainly not  be  visible  on  the  evening  in  question, 

and  Mr.  Warburton  as  certainly  would  be  vis- 

• 

ible  in  their  own  drawing-room,  ten  minutes 
after  the  close  of  evening  service.  And  there- 
fore— 

"I  mean  to  go  myself,  mamma,"  said  the 
young  lady  with  a  look  of  heavenly  peace. 

WI  would  rather  you  did  not.  Of  course  I 
shall  not  forbid  it." 

"Why  no,  mamma,  since  you  are  going." 

"But  I  fancied  you  would  not  desire  it.  I 
have  always  been  pleased  that  you  seemed  not 
to  be  infected  by  the  craze  of  the  other  young 
people  about  the  Pryors." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  am  infected  by  any 


15  THAT  ALLt  85 


craze ;  but  this  time  I  want  to  go.  So  please 
accept  for  us  both,  mamma." 

w  You  will  wear  your  darkest  silk,  then,  Lily. 
Full  dress  on  these  occasions  I  cannot  counte- 
nance." 

"Yes,  indeed!  My  claret  with  the  velvet 
vest  is  the  most  becoming  gown  I  have." 

The  pretty  mother  regarded  her  prettier 
daughter  curiously  for  a  moment,  and  then 
sighed ;  wondering  why  she,  of  all  blameless 
women,  should  have  had  a  child  whom  sho 
vaguely  felt  to  be  incorrigible.  But  of  course 
Lily  went  to  Mrs.  Pryor's. 

Meanwhile,  that  energetic  lady  had  had  her 
own  trials.  It  had  been  one  to  sit  down  alone, 
on  the  morning  after  Mrs.  Drowu's  arrival,  and 
listen  to  a  specimen  of  her  performance,  un- 
guided  by  that  fastidious  criticism  which,  hith- 
erto, had  been  always  at  hand,  to  regulate  her 
own  decisions. 

She  had  cherished,  up  to  the  last  moment,  a 


86  IS  THAT  ALL? 


faint  hope  that  the  trial  reading  might  take 
place  in  her  husband's  room ;  but  when  the 
time  came  the  experiment  seemed  out  of  the 
question,  and  she  was  fain  to  depend  upon  her 
own  judgment. 

And,  sooth  to  say,  that  bristling  faculty  was 
disarmed  and  taken  captive  by  the  very  first 
strophe  which  Mrs.  Drown  uttered.  There 
entered  into  her  ever  varying  intonations  a 
pathos,  deepening  occasionally  into  passion, 
which  was  wholly  at  variance  with  aught  sug- 
gested by  her  ordinary  manner ;  yet  the  reader 
never  obtruded  herself.  Her  lovely  vocaliza- 
tion was  like  a  transparent  garment  which 
emphasized  rather  than  veiled  the  beauties  of 
the  author's  meaning,  and  lent  it  grace  and 
unity. 

Mrs.  Pryor  listened,  first  with  relief,  then 
with  positive  exultation,  forecasting  the  enthu- 
siasm of  the  really  discriminating  circle  whom 
she  loved  to  please,  and  assured  future  for  the 


IS  THAT  ALLf  87 


fragile  and  solitary  young  woman,  and  most  of 
all  —  true  heart  that  she  was  —  the  possible 
effect,  some  time,  of  those  witching  tones  upon 
the  shattered  nerves  whose  pain  seemed  con- 
stantly to  accuse  her  own  vigor.  But  then, 
after  Augusta  had  expressed  her  approbation 
with  an  emphasis  which  did  not  appear  to 
impress  Mrs.  Drown  very  deeply,  came  the 
question  of  arranging  a  programme  for  the 
first  reading. 

w  You  say  I  must  read  something  grave  and 
quiet,  inadara,  because  it  is  the  Sunday." 

wlt  will  be  better.  I  have  asked  every  one, 
and  I  do  not  want  people  offended  when  they 
are  actually  in  my  house." 

"I  comprehend.  I  must  not  read  out  of  a 
play." 

"I  think  not.  Yet  you  read  Shakespeare 
gloriously.  Wo  might  possibly  select  some- 
thing from  Shakespeare." 


88  IS   THAT  ALL? 

"I  can  read  Juliet  best,"  said  Mrs.  Drown, 
with  simplicity.'* 

w  Perhaps  we  had  better  confine  ourselves  to 
the  moderns,  whom  all  the  }roung  people  know 
by  heart." 

w  Ah,  I  love  the  moderns  !  Mr.  Morris  and 
Mr.  Rossetti,  and  that  wonderful  Mr.  Swin- 
burne !  Pray,  madam,  let  me  read  you  the 
Defence  of  Guinevere,  —  I  shall  make  you 
weep." 

"I  did  not  mean  that  newest  school,  pre- 
cisely, but  Tennyson  and  the  Brownings,  and 
some  of  our  own  poets.  You  would  read 
Evangeline  charmingly." 

Mrs.  Drown  explained  that  she  had  never 
studied  Mr.  Robert  Browning.  "  It  is  too  hor- 
ribly unmusical !  I  cannot  utter  it ! "  —  with  a 
shrug  of  dismissal  —  "  and  your  own  poets  are 
so  tame !  I  have  read  the  sonnets  from  the 
Portuguese,  and  Vivien,  and  (Enone,  with  much 
praise.  Will  you  hear  (Enone?" 


IS  THAT  ALL?  89 

Mrs.  Pryor  was  perhaps  a  little  deficient  iu 
humor,  yet  a  fleeting  suspicion  did  visit  her 
that  she  was  being  quizzed.  But  the  sable 
garments  and  meekness  of  the  drooping  head, 
to  which  she  lifted  her  haughty  eyes,  seemed 
to  make  the  thought  unpardonable,  and  a  list 
of  "  numbers,"  was  at  last  arranged,  which  was, 
at  all  events,  to  include  Wordsworth's  Ode  to 
Immortality,  The  Cry  of  the  Children,  TJie 
Psalm  of  Life,  and  copious  extracts  from 
Elaine, 

Little  by  little  these  arrangements  were  com- 
municated to  the  patient  in  his  prison,  but  this 
was  one  of  his  most  miserable  weeks,  and  he 
was,  for  a  time,  obstinately  languid  and  indif- 
ferent. At  last,  however,  some  of  the  quaint- 
ness  of  manner  and  speech  which  Augusta 
described  seemed  to  catch  his  fancy,  and  when 
she  remarked,  with  a  countenance  of  grave 
anxiety,  that  the  little  artiste  would  have  liked 


00  IS  THAT  ALLf 

to  read  tho  Defence  of  Guinevere,  he  fairlv 
laughed. 

"I  don't  know  the  poem,"  he  said,  "but  tho 
title  is  picturesque.  I  think  you  have  caught 
a  curiosity  this  time,  mon  amie.  Are  you  qnito 
sure  her  reading  is  unusual  ?  " 

"I  am  sure  it  is  unparalleled.  Oh,  Alfred, 
if  you  would  only  hear  her  read  three  stanzas  ! 
You  would  find  it  so  different  from  my  middle- 
aged  croak,  or  Isabel  Rao's  boarding-school 
mouthing ! " 

"Belle  is  a  beautiful  girl,  and  I  won't  have 
her  abused.  No,  no  !  I  can't  see  a  stranger, 
and  I  won't  have  a  stranger  see  me.  But  tell 
me  all  about  her,  and  never  mind  my  occa- 
sional brutality  ! "  Then  he  kissed  the  tips  of 
his  fingers  to  her,  and  Augusta  went  her  busy 
way. 

The  momentous  evening  came,  and  some  of 
my  young  chorus  may  tell  you  how  it  passed 
off. 


IS  THAT  ALLt  91 


"Didn't  I  say  so,  Harry?" — inquired  George 
Aspinwall,  as  McArthur,  who  \vas,  as  yet,  a 
little  restless  under  peace  and  civic  conditions, 
wandered  into  the  lawyer's  office  on  Monday 
morning  —  "didn't  I  tell  you  that  Madam 
Avould  arise  like  a  phoenix,  and  not  be  with- 
held from  promoting  the  general  good  by  petty 
private  considerations  ?  Success  attend  her ! 
I  never  passed  a  pleasanter  evening  at  the 
Pryors'  than  last  night.  Wasn't  that  rather  a 
first-class  performance  ?  " 

"  It  was  good  reading,  certainly.  I  wonder 
•who  the  reader  is,  and  where  she  came  from?" 

"She's  been  on  the  stage,  I  fancy,"  said 
Aspinwall. 

WI  don't  believe  it.  If  she  had  ever  been 
on,  she  would  not  now  be  off.  She  has  just 
the  sort  of  original  fire,  and  superiority  to  rant, 
which  ought  to  be  priceless  upon  the  stage." 

"Ought  to  be,  but  are  not.  People  don't 
know  the  difference  And  when  they  don't, 


92  IS  THAT  ALLt 


you'll  observe,  the}'  always  like  the  sham  thing 
best.  This  Mrs.  What's-her-iiame  may  have 
had  a  theatrical  training.  But  she's  a  lady." 

"Is  she?  I  wasn't  sure.  There's  a  mighty 
difference  between  men  and  women  about  that 
thing ;  and  there's  a  very  finical  sort  of  woman 
who  isn't  a  lady  at  all.  Do  ladies  have  so 
many  sideways  looks?" 

"Mona  Lisa  did;  and  Monti  Lisa  was  what 
some  folks  call  'veiy  much  of  a  lady.'  I  sup- 
pose where  their  ej'es  are  not  set  level,  they 
can't  help  it.  But  I've  a  notion  that  this  0110 
would  be  a  match  for  any  lady-killer.  Par 
exemplel  We  got  on  very  well,  last  night, 
without  His  Grace." 

"  The  world  gets  on  very  well  without 
anybody.  'Close  ranks!'  is  the  order.  Your 
greatest  folly  is  to  imagine  that  you  would  bo 
missed." 

KI  know  who  does  miss  the  Colonel  in 
society,  though,  and  has  barely  self-command 


IS  THAT  ALLt  93 


enough  not  to  mope  for  him.  It's  not 
Mrs.  P." 

"Who  then?" 

w  Oh,  come  !  You  know  she  was  deucedly 
distant  and  distraite  last  evening !  " 

"I  know  I  hate  that  sort  of  jest.  There  isn't 
a  girl  of  my  acquaintance  who  deserves  the 
imputation  of  moping  for  any  married  man." 

K  Heavens  !  What  a  Paladin  we  are  !  But 
I  meant  nothing  tragic.  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
did  mean.  How  shall  I  put  it?  If  I  say  that 
the  Colonel  has,  in  some  sort,  demoralized  all 
the  girls  in  our  set,  I  suppose  you'll  call  me 
out." 

w  Calling  out  is  not  the  mode  nowadays.  By 
Jove,  I  often  wish  it  were !  But  I  should 
advise  you  to  explain  yourself." 

"Well,  then.  He  has  used  them,  one  and 
all,  and  your  particular  goddess,  I  opine,  most 
of  all  —  " 

"  If  you  mean  Miss  Rae,  say  so  1     I'm  not 


94  IS  THAT  ALLf 

ashamed  to  be  known  as  her  worshipper.  In 
that  case,  there's  an  old  and  close  intimacy 
between  the  families.  She's  at  the  Pryors' 
every  day  of  her  life." 

"  Exactly  !  But  there's  no  need  to  particu- 
larize. He  has  made  use  of  them  all,  more  or 
less,  to  practise  his  double  distilled-gallantries 
upon.  He  has  accustomed  them  to  a  subtle 
and  studied  sort  of  flattery,  which  makes  ordi- 
nary admiration  flat  and  distasteful  to  them. 
He  has  made  them  acutely,  and  in  some  cases 
overweeningly,  conscious  of  all  their  personal 
attractions,  and  he  has  set  up  such  a  prepos- 
terously high  standard  of  chivalry  —  and  all 
that  blarney  —  " 

"  You're  jealous,  George,  as  I'm  alive  !  Can 
a  man  help  it,  that  he  has  a  handsomer  face 
than  you  or  I,  and  manners  so  fine  that  ours 
are  awkward  beside  them?" 

'  'Tis  not  alone  the  standard  of  manners  he 
has  established,  but  the  code  of  sentimentality. 


IS  THAT  ALL?  95 

Ho  has  created  an  artificial  taste  for  an  expen- 
sive stimulant.  He  has  invested  himself  with 
such  a  delicious  atmosphere  of  refinement  and 
romance,  that  light-pated  young  girls  are  made 
fools  who  breathe  it,  and  they  shiver  ever  after 
in  all  common  air.  Why  they  trot,  in  squads, 
to  Pym's  greenhouse  now,  and  spend  all  their 
pin-money  buying  him  flowers  ! " 

"  What  'becomes  of  the  pins? '  I  wonder ;  so 
long  as  they  go  in  squads,  there's  no  great 
harm  done." 

"But  it  has  all  been  a  piece  of  iniquitous 
self-indulgence  on  the  man's  part.  He  revels 
in  the  first  freshness  and  sweetness  of  his 
young  lady  friends, — I  hate  the  term  between 
man  and  woman  !  The  Troubadour,  I  believe, 
always  called  his  lady-love  amid  —  and  never 
cares  that  the  early  bloom  is  forever  brushed 
off  their  affections." 

"  Whew  !  Who's  romantic  now,  I  wonder  I 
Honestly,  George,  that  cynical  spirit  of  yours 


96  IS  THAT  ALLt 


misleads  you,  as  I  have  known  it  to  do  in 
other  cases.  Col.  Pryor  is  the  most  amiable 
man  alive.  In  fact,  there's  the  only  danger." 

"  So  you  own  there  is  danger  I  " 

"  There  may  have  been  once ;  of  the  senti- 
mental sort  and  to  the  feeble-minded.  But  tho 
hero  is  down,  now,  and  I  can't  feel  it  manly  to 
kick  him." 

"  So  I  said  last  year,  but '  being  dead  he  yet 
squeaketh,'  as  they  put  it  on  somebody's  tomb- 
stone. Hang  it !  if  I  don't  think  him  more 
pernicious  now,  as  an  interesting  invalid,  than 
he  used  to  be  upon  his  legs.  Girls  are  such 
geese  ! " 

"Let's  pity  and  forgive  them  !  All  the  girls 
I  know  are  good  and  bright  girls  ;  and  my  old 
commander  —  whom  I  salute  for  his  bravery  — 
is  a  man  of  honor  and  of  common  sense." 

"He's  egrcgiously  weak  in  spots." 

"  So  am  I !  Not  many  fellows  are  armed  at 
all  points  as  you  are,  George." 


IS   THAT  ALLt  97 


"  Fire  away  !     But  you  know  I've  told  the 
truth." 

"You  have  distorted  it.     And   now  let  us 
quit  the  subject  of  the  girls  and  their  hero." 

"Their  carpet-knight,  you  mean." 

"  Well,  quit  him  !  and  tell  me  what  I  am  to 
set  about  doing.  Shall  I  read  law,  or  open  a 
singing-school,  or  go  on  a  Choctaw  mission? 
'  My  country  'tis  of  thee '  that  I  can't  settle  to 
any  rational  employment,  and  seem  to  have 
lost  the  knack  of  making  a  living." 
1 


CHAP.  VI. 

AT     THE     PEYORS*. 

TV  /TRS.  ANDERSON  and  Mrs.  Pryor  met 
•*•*•*•  in  the  street  one  day,  in  the  week  fol- 
lowing Mrs.  Drown's  dSbut.  They  had  volumes 
to  say  to  one  another,  or  rather  Mrs.  Anderson 
had  volumes  to  sa}\  First  of  all,  of  course, 
there  were  minute  inquiries  to  be  made  about 
the  Colonel. 

"Situation  quite  unchanged  ?  How  very,  very 
trying !  But  you  have  no  fears  about  the 
result?" 

"  The  doctors  have  always  encouraged  us ; 
but  all  agree  that  it  must  be  a  work  of  time." 

"Ah,  yes  1  And  of  course  you  have  had  the 
best  advice.  And  so  he  sees  absolutely  no  one, 
— rhe  to  whom  society  has  been,  as  one  may  say, 
08 


15  THAT  ALL?  99 

the  breath  of  life  !  But  tell  me,  is  this  wonder- 
ful little  Mrs.  Drowii  still  staying  with  you? 
What  a  miraculous  voice,  and  what  a  perfect 
style!  Where  did  you  find  her?  Allow  me 
to  thank  you  for  one  of  the  greatest  pleasures, 
etc.,  etc.  Do  you  really  think  she  will  be  able 
to  fill  the  Union?"  (This  was  the  Guildford 
theatre  mentioned  before.)  "Such  a  slight  little 
thing !  But  there  seems  no  limit  to  her  capac- 
ity, and  of  course  we  shall  all  go  !  And,  dear 
Mrs.  Pryor,  I  have  a  protegi!  of  my  own, 
although  of  a  very  different  sort  —  at  least  ho 
laughingly  calls  himself  mine  —  whom  I  would 
like  so  much  for  you  to  see  !  The  most  charm- 
ing young  English  clergyman  !  —  accomplished 
—  thorough-bred  —  a  nephew  of  the  Bishop  of 

,  a  great   acquisition   to    Guildford  !     He 

came  to  this  country  to  study  the  condition  of 
the  poor  in  our  cities  —  the  wretchedly  poor, 
you  know  —  and  the  forms  of  organized  charT 
ity  among  ns,  but  he  has  consented  to  assist 


100  18  THAT  ALL? 


Dr.  Price  in  the  parish  this  winter.  Ah,  yes  ! 
—  you  have  heard  about  him.  I  found  that  I 
knew  some  of  his  people  —  an  aunt,  the  Hon. 
Mrs.  Bingham,  \vhom  I  met  in  the  East  —  so  I 
undertook  to  chaperon  him.  I  should  have 
taken  him  to  the  reading  unhesitatingly,  dear 
Mrs.  Pryor,  but  on  Sunday,  you  know,  it  would 
not  quite  have  done.  Next  Saturday  afternoon 
he  is  to  talk  to  a  few  friends  in  my  parlors, 
about  public  and  private  charity  in  England. 
I  shall  depend  on  your  coming,  because  }"ou 
are  always  interested  in  every  good  work,  and 
then  I  want  you  to  know  Mr.  Warburton.  It 
is  not  a  lecture,  you  understand,  but  just  a 
familiar  talk.  Pray  come,  and  bring  that  fas- 
cinating little  thing  with  you.  She  has  a 
mysleriouslj'  familiar  look  to  me,  but  of  course 
I  never  saw  her.  How  she  did  rend  the  Cry 
of  the  Children!  I  shiver  at  the  remembrance. 
And  so  Col.  Pryor  has  not  been  able  to  hear 


IS   THAT  ALL  t  ioi 


her  at  all,  and  she  under  your  very  roof! 
What  a  loss  for  him  !  " 

"Yes,  last  evening  I  did  persuade  him  to 
listen  to  one  of  the  shortest  and  simplest  of 
Longfellow's  Lyrics.  I  dared  not  attempt  any- 
thing more  intense." 

"Is  ho  so  weak?  But  he  approved?  You 
know  the  Colonel  was  always  our  arbiter  of 
taste." 

"He  encouraged  me  very  much  by  saying 
he  would  like  to  hear  her  again.  'Tis  the  first 
entertainment  I  have  devised  for  him  which  he 
has  ever  asked  to  have  repeated." 

"  Ah,  well !  My  kindest  regards  to  him  I 
Bo  sure  you  come  on  Saturday  ! " 

"  What  do  I  care  for  her  young  divine  ? " 
observed  Augusta,  when  she  mentioned  the 
interview  to  her  husband ;  "  and  why  is  tho 
nephew  of  a  bishop  dawdling  about  here  ?  " 

M  But  she  came  to  your  show,  my  lady,  and 
I  think  you  are  bound  to  go  to  hers." 


102  IS  THAT  ALLf 

"Well,  perhaps  Mrs.  Drown  will  like  it.  It 
will  gi\fe  her  a  sort  of  introduction  into  the 
most  gorgeous  house  in  Guildford,  and  it  was 
rather  good-natured  of  Rose  Anderson  to  ask 
her." 

But  when  the  proposal  was  made  to  the 
stranger  she  became  very  shy,  and  pleaded  to 
be  allowed  to  decline.  Wherefore  Mrs.  Pryor 
went  alone  to  hear  the  Rev.  Mr.  Warburtou 
discourse  on  public  and  private  charity  in  the 
Established  Church  of  England. 

Half  an  hour  after  her  departure,  the  atten- 
dant, who  usually  sat  sewing  in  Col.  Pryor's 
dressing-room  when  Augusta  was  away,  being 
also  accidentally  absent,  there  came  the  tiniest 
of  taps  at  the  door  of  the  long  chamter,  to 
which  the  invalid  could  only  respond  by  an, 
invitation  to  enter.  Then  the  door  unclosed 
and  closed  again,  without  the  faintest  noise,  and 
a  slim,  black-robed  figure  slipped  timidly  in, 
and  stood  speechless,  as  though  in  a  royal  audi- 


IS  THAT  ALL?  103 


ence  chamber,  slightly  lifting  up,  as  if  in  dep- 
recation, two  volumes  in  her  fairy  hand. 

Alfred,  who  had  seen  the  intruder  but  once, 
and  for  a  few  moments,  was  undoubtedly 
amazed.  He  started,  and  flushed  uncomfor- 
tably, but  gave  her,  of  course,  his  elaborately 
polite  welcome. 

WI  am  come  to  try  reading  to  you,  again," 
said  Mrs.  Drown,  in  a  voice  that  just  escaped 
being  tremulous,  "because  you  said  that  you 
would  hear  me,  and  you  are  quite  alone." 

K  A  thousand  thanks,  madam  !  you  are  only 
too  kind.  Pray  forgive  my  not  rising,  and  sit 
down  ! "  And  he  reflected  that  this  was  prob- 
ably a  1-use  of  Mrs.  Augusta's  to  forestall  his 
denial  of  her  favorite. 

There  was  a  low  steamer-chair  near  the  couch. 
Mrs.  Drown  crept  around  to  that,  and,  care- 
fully and  silently  removing  it  some  yards  far- 
ther off,  to  the  very  edge  of  the  lacquered 


104  I8  THAT  ALLf 


screen,  she  sank  into  it,  still  holding  up  her 
books  as  a  kind  of  buckler. 

"Shall  I  read  prose  or  poetry?"  she  inquired, 
a  little  hurriedly,  as  though  fearful  that  her 
call  would  assume  another  than  a  strictly  busi- 
ness aspect.  "  I  read  always  poetry  to  the 
ladies,  but  I  can  also  read  prose  well." 

"Pray  don't  read  either  just  yet,"  he  said 
•with  a  smile.  "  Unfortunately  I  cannot  listen 
long.  Have  you  something  new  there?" 

"  I  have  this  new  long  poem  by  Mr.  William 
Morris,  whom  I  love,  —  The  Earthly  Paradise. 
It  is  not  like  his  other  poems,  but  all  very 
plain  and  sad  and  soothing.  It  seems  to  me 
it  would  either  weary  one  very  much  indeed, 
or  never  at  all.  Perhaps,  never.  You  could 
tell  me." 

W'I  should  be  sorry  to  do  that,  you  know. 
What  else  have  you?" 

"Ah,  such  a  light  and  charming  little  French 
book  I  If  I  might  only  read  you  this  I  I  like 


IS  THAT  ALL?  105 


French  prose  best  of  all  that  is  •written,  and 
sometimes  I  think  I  read  it  best.  This  is  M. 
Alphonse  Karr's  quaint  story  of  his  garden. 
You  have  not  met  it?  No,  but  you  would 
understand  the  French  without  doubt." 

"  It  used  to  be  familiar  enough,  but  I  have 
neither  spoken  nor  heard  it  much  for  some 
years.  Read  a  bit,  please,  Mrs.  Drown.  — 
Yes,  that  is  the  true  French  grace  of  narra- 
tion," he  said,  when  she  paused ;  "  and  what 
an  exquisite  accent  you  have  !  Pardon  me,  but 
aren't  you  French  yourself,  Mrs.  Drown  ?  " 

"I  spoke  the  language  always,  when  a  child," 
she  said,  "but  it  was  in  England." 

"Then  you  arc  a  cosmopolite." 

"Alas,  yes !  And  that  is  good  for  a  man, 
but  not  for  such  as  I." 

He  wished  she  were  sitting  a  little  nearer. 
Alfred  was  a  trifle  short-sighted,  and  hU  visitor 
had  provokingly  withdrawn  herself  just  beyond 
the  focus  of  his  circumscribed  vision. 


106  15  THAT  ALLf 

"What  did  you  tell  me  was  the  name  of 
your  other  volume,  Mrs.  Drown?"  he  asked 
presently. 

"  The  Earthly  Paradise." 

"Ah,  me  !  I  have  little  faith  iii  an  Earthly 
Paradise." 

"You  mean  that  there  is  none.  Oh,  no! 
Those  who  sought  it  in  this  book  did  not  find 
it,  as  you  will  see.  Listen!  —  "  and  she  read 
the  argument  and  paused. 

"Go  on,  if  you  will  be  so  kind." 

Then  she  read  the  sweet  prelude,  and  paused 
again,  but  his  eyes  gave  her  undoubted  encour- 
agement, and  she  proceeded  simply  to  the  nar- 
rative. The  light  and  perfectly  just  pathos  of 
her  full  tones,  and  her  crystalline  pronuncia- 
tion, began  to  work  upon  her  listener  like  a 
charm.  At  the  end  of  a  half-dozen  pages  he 
waved  his  hand  a  little,  unwilling  to  interrupt 
her  by  his  own  voice,  but  she  understood  in- 
stantly, and  stopped. 


IS   THAT  ALLf  ioj 


"Ten  thousand  pardons!"  he  cried,  with 
almost  his  natural  liveliness.  "This  is  the  very 
loveliest  exercise  I  ever  heard  in  my  life,  and 
you  are  giving  ine  such  a  pleasure  as  I  have 
not  had  in  a  doleful  while  ;  but  I  ought  to  tell 
you,  it  is  so  very  soothing  that,  if  you  don't 
pause  now  and  then,  I  may  pay  you  a  very 
doubtful  compliment." 

"You  mean,"  she  cried,  with  shining  eyes  and 
a  frank  little  laugh,  starting  up,  to  his  great 
satisfaction,  and  moving  her  chair  five  paces 
nearer,  "  you  mean  you  would  go  to  sleep ! 
Why,  that  ought  to  flatter  me  most  of  all,  and 
indeed  so  it  would,  for  Mrs.  Pryor  has  told 
me  —  "  with  her  extraordinarily  musical  Ml  of 
the  voice  —  "how  sorely  you  need  repose.  I 
am  to  go  on  ?  " 

The  next  time  he  interrupted  her,  he  apolo- 
gized for  the  seeming  impcriousncss  of  his  lifted 
finger.  "They  have  been  so  afraid  I  should 
feel  my  dependence,"  he  said,  "that  they  have 


108  18  THAT  ALL* 

spoiled  me  ridiculously,  by  obeying  my  very 
gestures.  But  I  want  to  know,  Mrs.  Drown, 
what  else  your  author  has  written.  I  don't 
know  his  works,  but  I  have  not  lived  much  in 
the  world  of  letters  for  a  good  v/hile." 

"  There  is  one  other  small  volume,"  said  the 
lady,  hesitatingly  —  then,  with  a  sudden  illu- 
mination of  countenance — "Ah,  then  you  don't 
know  that  weird  little  thing  about  the  '  banner- 
poles  !'  Let  me  recite  it." 

And  so,  with  one  of  her  swift  but  never 
sharp  changes  of  key,  and  letting  her  book  fall 
in  her  lap,  with  her  finger  between  the  leaves, 
she  began  — 

"  "Wearily,  drearily 
Half  the  day  long 

Flap  the  great  banners 

High  over  the  stone ; 
"Wearily,  eerily, 
Sounds  the  wind's  song, 


IS   THAT  ALL? 


109 


Bending1  the  banucr-poles.    While  all  alouo 
"Watching  the  loop-hole's  spark, 
Lie  I,  with  life  all  dark, 
Hands  tethered,  feet  fettered 

Close  to  the  stone. 
The  square  walls,  grim-lettered 
"With  prisoned  men's  groans. 
Still  strain  the  banner-poles, 

Through  the  wind's  song, 
"Westward  the  banner  rolls 

Over  my  wrong." 

That  surely  is  a  distinct  and  very  wonderful 
gift,  whereby  he  who  utters  certain  sounds  can 
evoke  as  clear  a  vision  in  the  brain  of  the 
listener,  as  may  ever  be  reflected  from  any 
visible  picture.  To  the  sensitive  imagination 
of  the  listener,  in  this  case,  the  whole  middle- 
ago  returned  in  the  soft,  feminine  tones  that 
caressed  his  ear,  —  its  fervor,  its  blindness,  its 
wild  contrasts  of  splendor  and  squalor,  its  in- 
cessant tragedy.  The  dank  stone  Avails  rose 
high  around  him.  The  taunting  colors  of  a 


HO  IS  THAT  ALL? 

triumphant  foe  stained,  with  their  cruel  bril- 
liance, his  one  pale,  strip  of  sky.  And  that 
which  made  the  vision  overpowering  was  an 
intense  although  only  half-acknowledged  per- 
sonal reaction  in  the  sentiment  of  the  verse,  — 
defeat,  imprisonment,  hopeless  rebellion.  Ho 
scorned  himself  for  the  weakness  which  made 
it  necessary  for  him  to  shade  his  eyes,  but, 
for  a  moment,  he  could  not  speak. 

Mrs.  Drown  watched  him  intently,  until  she 
herself  broke  the  silence  in  childlike  tones  of 
bitter  compunction —  "Oh,  I  have  been  wrong  I 
I  have  pained  you  !  It  was  not  delicate  to 
repeat  that.  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  and  she  started 
up,  dropping  her  books  and  clasping  her  hands. 

He  was  collecting  himself  to  reassure  her, 
when  the  door  opened  and,  stately  in  velvet 
and  sable,  Mrs.  Pry  or  walked  in.  It  was  tho 
first  time,  for  more  than  a  year,  that  Alfred 
had  failed  to  take  note  of  her  step  upon  the 
staircase. 


IS  THAT  ALLt  HI 

Augusta's  was  a  face  unused  to  disguise,  and, 
save  in  the  supreme  moments  when  any  woman 
can  and  should  deceive,  hardly  capable  of  it. 
Alfred  saw  in  an  instant  that  his  wife  had  not 
planned  the  invasion  of  his  privacy,  but  all  the 
more,  if  there  were  any  possible  censure  for 
their  singular  guest,  he  was  ready  to  be  the 
shield  and  defence  of  the  latter. 

"Ah,  is  this  you,  my  lady?"  he  said  lightly. 
w  You  see  a  conquered  and  converted  man ! 
You  never  would  imagine,  Mrs.  Drown,  how 
obstinately  I  have  resisted  a  blessing  in  your 
person.  I  would  not  believe  a  tithe  of  what 
they  told  me  about  your  witchery  with  words. 
But  now,  as  usually  in  the  end,  I  bow  to  the 
superior  judgment  of  my  wife.  Do,  Augusta, 
help  me  to  thank  Mrs.  Drown  for  a  perfectly 
fresh  and  rare  pleasure.** 

"  Mrs.  Drown  knows,"  said  Augusta,  with  a 
gentler  dignity  than  usual,  "how  much  I  am 
obliged  to  her,  if  she  has  given  you  ease  and 


112  IS  THAT  ALL? 


entertainment."  But  she  remained  standing 
while  she  spoke,  and  the  acute  }roung  person 
whom  she  addressed,  knew  that  she  was  dis- 
missed. 

"I  will  go  then,"  said  Mrs.  Drown  demurely, 
with  a  glance  up  at  her  patroness  of  timid 
obliquity.  "I  knew  you  wanted  me  to  try 
again,  madam,  and  so  I  came.  I  am  glad  to 
have  done  no  harm." 

"But  you  will  come  again,  Mrs.  Drown,  and 
often  !  I  am  to  hear  every  word  of  that  long 
story-hook,  remember !  " 

"Yes,  indeed,  if  I  may." 

"  If  she  may  I "  echoed  Mrs.  Augusta,  casting 
aside  her  cloak  after  the  door  had  closed. 
"  What  does  the  creature  mean  ?  I  can't  quite 
make  her  out.  Of  course  she  may,  if  it  suits 
you.  But  what  in  the  world  made  her  think 
of  coming  here  to-day,  I  wonder?  Did  you 
send  for  her?" 

'*  Not  I !     I  supposed  it  was  by  your  orders, 


IS  THAT  ALLf  113 


but  it  seems  to  have  been  all  a  benevolent  im- 
pulse of  her  own.  She's  not  very  conventional, 
apparently,  but  she  has  genius.** 

"  And  she  has  really  amused  you." 

"Much  more!  She  has  really  made  one 
afternoon  seem  short  to  me." 

"Well,  I  am  rejoiced,  of  course.  But"  — 
touching  his  forehead  with  her  large  cool,  white 
hand  —  "  aren't  you  a  little  feverish  ?  " 

"I'm  not  conscious  of  it.  How  was  the 
apostle  to  the  Andersons?" 

Mrs.  Pryor  declared  "that  he  was  evidently 
just  what  he  claimed  to  be,  an  English  gen- 
tleman. He  is  fair  and  muscular  and  white- 
handed,  and  very  becoming  to  his  clothes. 
And  he  drawls  and  blushes  and  stammers,  and 
speaks  of  America  with  unconscious  insolence. 
What  could  the  heir  of  an  earldom  do  more  ? 
All  that  he  told  us  we  knew  before,  but  I  think 
we  were  all  impressed  by  the  privilege  it  was 
to  hear  him  tell  it.  And  he  seems  to  be  fall- 
8 


15   THAT  ALL? 


ing  in  love  with  Lily  Anderson  in  the  most 
orthodox  fashion." 

"  Do  you  remember  how  savage  the  fair  Lily 
used  to  be  to  me?  But  any  young  mau  with  a 
well-regulated  mind  would,  of  course,  fall  in 
love  with  her." 


CHAP.    VII. 

AT  THE  ANDERSON'S. 

r  I  ^HERE  were  certainly  some  indications 
•*•  that  the  Rev.  Mr.  Warburton  meant  to 
prove  himself  u  young  man  with  a  well-regu- 
lated mind,  according  to  Col.  Pryor'.s  definition. 
Miss  Anderson  was  not  yet  twenty,  but  she 
had  had  experience  in  lovers,  and  she  was 
obstinately  in  love  herself,  and  she  knew  very 
well  that  a  good  many  of  the  young  Briton's 
inarticulate  murmurs  meant  personal  admira- 
tion. And  still  she  did  not  quite  understand 
him.  "Sometimes,"  she  said  pensively  to  her 
only  confidante,  Emily  Richards,  "I  think  it  is 
mamma  he  hankers  after."  Miss  Lily  had  cer- 
tainly the  sort  of  unholy  yearning  which  her 
word  implied,  for  effective  and  inelegant  forms 
of  speech. 

116 


Il6  IS  THAT  ALL? 

"  Nonsense  !     He  all  but  makes  eyes  at  you 
from  the  reading-desk." 

"That's  only  at  the  pew,  and  in  a  general 
way.  And  sometimes,  also,"  pursued  Miss 
Anderson,  with  her  contemplative  look,  "I 
have  a  feeling  that  he  has  made  a  great  many 
eyes  in  his  day,  and  only  does  it  from  force  of 
habit.  One  does  not  think  so  at  first,  because 
of  that  plain,  boyish  way  of  his  which  mamma 
will  have  it  is  the  true  simplicity  of  the  high- 
bred Englishman"  (Lily  was  a  good  mimic.) 
"She  always  speaks  as  if  she  had  known  them 
by  hundreds,  but  I  remember  very  well  that 
they  would  hardly  deign  to  look  at  us  when  wo 
were  abroad,  — and  great  louts  they  were  too, 
some  of  the  most  stupendous  of  them.  But 
the  longer  I  know  Mr.  Warburton,  the  less 
stock  I  take  —  I  must  remember  to  say  that 
before  mamma  and  him  —  in  his  simplicity." 

"  You  don't  think  he's  another  impostor,  do 
you?" 


IS  THAT  ALLf  117 


"  Not  exactly,  and  yet  I  don't  quite  believe 
in  him." 

"  How  you  anatyze  everybody,  Lily." 
w  So  Cousin  Charley  used  to  say ;  but  I 
always  told  him  that  I  only  do  it — if  that's 
the  proper  word  for  it  —  in  order  to  find  out 
in  \vhom  I  may  believe.  Oh,  what  I  want 
most  of  all,"  and  a  look  of  real  and  almost 
hapless  fervor  came  into  the  violet  eyes,  w  is  to 
believe  in  persons.  I  never  could  quite  believe 
in  my  mother.  In  my  father  I  do  after  a  fash- 
ion, unpleasant  as  he  can  make  himself;  and  I 
do  believe  in  Charles  Mason.  That's  why  I 
shall  marry  him  and  nobody  else.  We're  not 
engaged,  you  know, — that  is  not  formally.  It 
would  never  be  allowed.  And  I'm  not  much 
in  love  with  him  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the 
term  — " 

"  Goodness  !     How  do  you  know  ?  " 
KOh,  I  haven't  any  raptures  or  any  thrills  or 
any  illusions.    I  haven't  the  sort  of  tendresse 


Il8  IS  THAT  ALL? 

which  mamma  always  has  for  some  man  or 
other  besides  father,  — just  now  for  Mr.  War- 
burton.  In  short,  I'm  not  in  the  least  sweet 
on  him.  Nor  do  I  fancy  that  sort  of  thing. 
That  was  what  I  always  disliked  about  Col. 
Pryor.  He  could  be  sweet,  yes,  veritably  sweet, 
on  a  dozen  girls  in  succession." 

"He  was  very,  very  chivalrous,"  observed 
Miss  Richards,  paying  the  retired  officer  his 
perpetual  tribute  of  a  light  feminine  sigh. 

"Of  course  his  manners  were  courtly.  But  I 
prefer  a  little  honest  rudeness  myself.  Charles 
is  often  very  rude.  And  he  is  always  very 
homely  —  or  ugly,  as  Mr.  Warburton  insists 
that  one  should  say.  And  sometimes  he  strikes 
me  as  pedantic ;  though  I'd  soon  cure  him  of 
that!  And  I  have  seen  creases  in  his  linen, 
not  to  say  smudges  —  but  that's  only  because, 
poor  fellow,  he  can't  quite  afford  all  the  wash- 
ing that  is  desirable.  I  think  he  is  clean  —  " 

« Oh,  Lily!" 


IS   THAT  ALL  t 


"And  I  know,"  .added  the  young  ladj^  with 
deep  solemnit\r,  and  looking  like  the  very  an- 
gel of  the  church  triumphant,  "  that  he  is  true. 
lie  never  did  anything  to  be  ashamed  of,  and 
he  never  will." 

"No  more,  I  suppose,  has  Mr.  "VVarburton." 

Tm  afraid  not.  But  do  you  know  it  has 
occurred  to  me  more  than  once,  when  I  have 
seen  him  standing  up  in  his  white  gown,  so 
handsome  and  sanctimonious,  and  mamma  so 
devout,  and  Dr.  Price  so  entirely  satisfied,  be- 
cause now  he  can  let  his  old  wits  go  wool- 
gathering about  his  old  book,  how  delightful  it 
would  be  to  see  their  consternation,  if  even  the 
Bishop's  nephew  should  turn  out  by  and  by  to 
have  done  something  truly  horrid." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  want  to  shock 
the  good  old  Doctor." 

"Because  he  was  not  honorable  to  Charles 
Mason,  and  allows  himself  to  be  led  by  mamma. 
You  are  going  to  the  Union,  of  course,  to 


120  IS  THAT  ALLt 

hear  Mrs.  Fryer's  Mrs.  Drown  read  this  even- 
ing. Oh,  why  won't  you  stay  to  dinner  and  go 
with  us?  The  Bishop's  nephew  is  to  attend 
us." 

"Thanks!  but  I'm  not  dressed,  of  course, 
and  besides,  I'm  going  with  George  Aspinwall. 
He  is  very  nearly  as  cynical  about  Mrs.  Drown 
as  you  seem  to  be  about  his  Reverence.  He 
inclines  to  think  that  she  has  been  on  the  stage 
of  some  provincial  theatre  abroad.  But,  like 
every  one  else,  he  considers  her  voice  a  won- 
der, and  her  style  much  better  than  we  are 
accustomed  to.  In  fact,  that's  the  thing  to  say 
about  her.  And  he  wants  me  to  take  lessons 
of  her,  and  thinks  of  doing  so  himself." 

"And  is  it  so,"  said  Miss  Anderson,  bending 
on  her  elder  friend  a  grave  and  searching  look, 
"that  you  will  take  these  or  any  lessons  be- 
cause George  Aspinwall  wishes  it?  Emily"  — 
reproachfully  —  "I  always  tell  you  everything  " 

"There   is   nothing   in   life  to  tell,"  replied 


IS  THAT  ALLf  121 

Miss  Richards,  without  change  of  color,  but 
impatiently.  K\Tust  now  Mr.  Counsellor  and  I 
ar*1  rather  intimate  friends.  In  Lent  he  will  be 
all  devotion  to  the  Faxons.  Hcigho  !  Lily.  I 
wisli  I  had  a  rich  aunt  to  take  me  to  Egypt,  or 
an  uncle  in  the  army  to  invite  me  to  spend  a 
winter  on  the  frontier,  or  a  chance  to  join  an 
Arctic  Expedition  or  ship  for  a  voyage  round 
the  Horn  !  I  don't  suppose  there  is  on  this 
planet  another  so  stale  and  flat  a  town  as 
Guildford ! " 

After  which  transport  of  ennui  Miss  Rich- 
ards took  her  leave,  and  was  observed  to  bo 
keeping  up  a  brisker  fire  of  jest  even  than 
usual  with  her  companion  at  the  theatre  that 
night. 

They  both  turned  round,  as  everybody  always 
did  —  and  pardonably  —  to  see  Mrs.  Anderson 
and  her  daughter  come  in,  wrapped  in  their 
ilcecy  white  cloaks,  and  Miss  Richards  observed 


122  IS   THAT  ALLf 


with  surprise  that  they  were  attended  by  an 
usher  only. 

Mr.  Warbtirton  had,  in  fact,  received  letters 
from  home  that  afternoon  of  so  pressing  a 
nature  that  he  had  no  choice  but  to  devote  the 
evening,  and  indeed  half  the  night,  to  the  con- 
sideration and  arrangement  of  his  replies  ;  and 
he  had  been  fain  to  send  round  to  the  Ander- 
sons a  rather  constrained  note  of  apology, 
which  Lilian  had  criticised  without  mercy. 

The  next  day  arrived  the  first  great  snow- 
storm of  the  season  with  a  howling  gale,  and  so 
rapid  and  blinding  a  fall,  that  travel  and  traffic 
were  well-nigh  banished  from  the  streets  of 
Guildford  before  the  preternatimilly  early  twi- 
light. But  Mr.  Warburton's  fine  limbs,  albeit 
unused  to  just  that  form  of  exercise,  bore  him 
safely  through  the  mounting  drifts,  and  landed 
him,  rosy  and  splendid,  in  the  Anderson's  par 
lor  just  as  the  after-dinner  tea  equipage  had 
been  deposited  on  its  usual  table.  Both  ladies 


123 


were  present,  as  well  as  the  master  of  the 
house  for  once  in  a  way,  and  Mrs.  Rose  glided 
swiftly  forward  to  meet  her  guest,  with  soft 
palms  outstretched  and  more  than  her  wonted 
empressement. 

"Dear  Mr.  "\Varburton,  how  gallant  of  you 
to  come  in  this  tempest !  I  trust  I  may  now 
dismiss  the  anxiety  which  has  been  haunting 
me  all  day.  There  was  no  bad  news  in  your 
letters  of  yesterday?" 

"Oh,  no,  nothing  of  that  sort.  Family 
affairs,  you  know.  You're  very  good,  Mrs. 
Anderson,  I  am  sure." — Then  his  eyes  wan- 
dered to  Lily  at  the  tea-table. 

That  damsel  was  wearing  a  certain  wide- 
spread and  much-voluted  black  silk  gown,  in 
which  she  always  looked  particularly  imposing, 
and  she  now  offered  him  tea  with  so  distant  a 
dignity  that  he  was  quite  abashed,  and  re- 
treated with  his  cup  in  the  direction  of  Mr. 


124  IS  THAT  ALLf 

Anderson.  "Is  this  what  you  call  a  great 
snow-storm  in  the  States?"  he  inquired. 

"  Stiffish  ! "  replied  the  master  of  the  man- 
sion, succinctly.  "  Trains  blocked  and  wires 
down.  No  city  papers  to-night. —  Have  the 
Evening  Circus?"  he  asked,  with  what  was 
for  him  a  spasm  of  self-conquest,  extending  a 
few  inches  while  yet  ho  greedily  clutched  the 
one  daily  paper  of  Guildford. 

But  Mr.  Warburton  did  not  accept  the  sacri- 
fice, and  again  fell  back  a  few  paces,  after 
which  Mrs.  Anderson  waved  him  to  follow  her 
to  a  certain  lete-a-tele  chair,  and  ostensibly 
claimed  him  for  her  own,  kindly  allowing  him, 
however,  the  seat  that  faced  her  daughter. 

The  performance  of  the  previous  evening 
first  came  up  for  discussion. 

"Augusta  Pryor,"  said  Mrs.  Anderson,  judi- 
cially, "has  an  insatiate  passion  for  protigts, 
so  that  one  always  has  to  be  a  little  on  one's 
guard  lest  they  prove  mere  adventurers.  But 


IS  THAT  ALLt  125 


this  one  truly  is  wonderful.  Is  it  not  odd,  Mr. 
"Warbiirton,  that  you  should  have  missed  hear- 
ing her  again  ?  " 

"  There  seems  a  sort  of  fatality  about  it,  you 
know,"  said  the  Englishman,  lightly  wiping  his 
blonde  moustache. 

K  And  now  she  is  forming  a  class  of  young 
ladies.  Shall  I  let  Lily  go  and  have  her  voice 
developed  ?  " 

w'Pon  me  soul,  I  don't  think  Miss  Anderson's 
voice  could  be  improved." 

"Oh,  you  are  very  good,"  said  Lily,  with  a 
hardly  perceptible  toss  of  her  fair  head ;  w  but 
you  see  I  have  determined  that  it  shall  be.  I 
never  in  my  life  heard  anything  so  impressive 
as  the  way  those  quiet  tones  filled  all  that  high 
space." 

"But  you  don't  want  to  fill  a  high  space,  you 
know." 

"Indeed,   I  wish  to  bo   capable    of   it.     I 


126  IS  THAT  ALLt 

think  every  young  woman  nowadays  ought  to 
be  trained  for  public  speaking." 

"Lily!"  cried  her  mother,  feeling  herself 
vicariously  shocked,  through  all  Mr.  Warbur- 
ton's  British  prejudices,  by  this  ultra  declara- 
tion. 

"  Certainly  I  do  !  Who  knows  what  may 
happen?  Think  how  many  times  during  the 
war,  mamma,  Mrs.  Pry  or  had  to  speak  in  pub- 
lic, or  what  was  the  same  thing,  and  very  noble 
she  was.  You  know,  mamma,  you  wished  a 
hundred  times  that  you  could  do  it  yourself." 

"M}-  love,  I  was  more  than  willing  that  that 
part  of  our  joint  labor  should  devolve  upon 
her.  Mrs.  Pryor  (to  Mr.  TVarburtou)  was 
President  of  our  Soldier's  Aid  Society. 

"  Ah,  yes,  of  course  !  But  I  protest,"  added 
that  gentleman,  with  unwonted  energy,  "that  I 
never  in  my  life  knew  but  one  woman  who  did 
not  seem  to  me  naturally  disqualified  by  the 


IS   THAT  ALL?  \2"J 


character  of  htr  voice  for  anything  of  the 
kind." 

"You  don't  include  actresses," observed  Lily. 

"Actresses?"  repeated  the  young  man,  a 
little  blankly.  "  Oh,  yes,  I'll  include  them  so 
far  as  I  know  about  them.  The  professional 
training  is  worth  something,  of  course  ;  but  one 
doesn't  hear  many  women,  even  upon  the 
stage,  whose  tones  are  penetrating  without 
being  shrill." 

"How  perfectly  he  describes  Mrs.  Drown's, 
does  ho  not,  Lily?  And  what  I  think  height- 
ens the  effect  iu  her  case  is  that  she  is  so  small 
and  slight,  and  has  an  almost  childish  air." 

"Oddly  enough,"  said  the  Englishman,  w the 
woman  of  whom  I  speak  was  tiny  too.  Is  that 
to  be  the  physique  of  the  female  orator,  I  won- 
der ?  All  the  eloquent  men  I  ever  knew  Avere 
big  and  broad.  Miss  Anderson,  I  rejoice  to 
think  that  your  ambition  is  vain.  You  are  at 
least  six  inches  too  tall."  Then  be,  stopped 


128  IS  THAT  ALLf 

abruptly,  and  mused  for  the  space  of  three 
seconds,  after  which  he  added,  in  a  slightly 
altered  tone,  a  question  which  had  been  asked 
before,  "Where  does  this  wonder  come  from?" 

"Where  was  her  home,  Lily?  Augusta 
Pryor  told  me,  surely,  but  I  have  forgotten. 
She  is  a  widow,  poor  thing  !  —  and  obliged  to 
use  her  remarkable  gift  for  self-support." 

w  Ah,  yes  !  extremely  sad  !  I  shall  make  a 
point  of  hearing  her.  —  By  Jove,  this  is  ter- 
riffic ! "  for  at  that  instant  a  blast,  fiercer  than 
any  which  had  preceded  it,  caused  the  plate- 
glass  to  rattle  and  the  gas  to  waver. 

"Devilish  cold,  too  !"  emitted  the  lord  of  the 
house,  rubbing  his  large  hands  over  the  glowing 
coals.  He  had  just  returned  from  a  visit  of 
inspection  to  his  exposed  thermometer,  —  next 
to  the  Stock  Exchange  and  the  Evening  Circus, 
the  keenest  interest  of  his  life.  "Nineteen  and 
a  half  precisely  !  We  don't  often  get  it  with 
the  mercury  down  there.  This  will  give  you  a 


IS   THAT  ALL  f 


129 


stroke  of  work  in  the  alleys, — you  philan- 
thropist. " 

"Ah,  yes,  ah,  yes  !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Rose,  clos- 
ing her  eyes  —  a  gesture  which  always  made 
Lily  pat  the  carpet  with  her  boot  — "  how  the 
poor  will  suffer  !  In  this  respect,  at  least,  dear 
Mr.  Warburton,  our  poor  are  worse  off  than 
yours.  Our  climate  is  so  cruel." 

"  There's  not  much  to  choose,  I  fancy,"  the 
young  man  answered  a  little  absently.  "What, 
when  all  is  done  and  said,  do  we  know  about 
their  discomforts  and  temptations?  I  often 
think  of  it,  when  I  am  advising  them  to  resist 
the  devil.  It  is  undeniably  hard  that  a  man 
may  not  steal  coals,  if  he  can,  to  keep  himself 
from  freezing  on  a  nigrht  like  this." 

C3  G 

"  I  think  he  not  only  may,  but  ought,"  said 
Lily,  "especially  if  he  has  a  family." 

"My  love,  the  Commandment ! " 

"But  I'm  sure,  mamma,  the  Ten  Command- 
ments are  a  very  imperfect  code."  (This  was 


130  IS  THAT  ALL? 

a  quotation.)  "The  meanest  of  all  sins  — 
lying — they  hardly  mention  at  all.  Now  that 
is  a  something  the  temptation  to  which  is  per- 
fectly inconceivable." 

"Lying  is  ugly,  certainly,"  said  the  young 
divine,  lifting  his  eyes  to  the  fair  censor's  face, 
and  letting  them  fall  again,  "but  I  think  I  can 
imagine  a  temptation  to  it." 

WI  cannot,  then;  in  old  or  young,  rich  or 
poor,  —  nor  a  pardon  for  it  either." 

"  She  would  make  a  pitiless  judge,"  Mr. 
Warburton  said  to  his  hostess,  rising  at  the 
same  time  to  take  leave,  and  rather  contempt- 
uously repudiating  the  suggestion  that  he  had 
better  remain  over-night,  on  account  of  the 
inclemency  of  the  weather. 

"Why  will  you  always  drive  him  from  us, 
Lily?"  inquired  Mrs.  Anderson  rather  plain- 
tively, when  he  was  gone. 

w  I,  mamma  ?  "  —  and  Innocence  rose  to  her 
full  height  —  "what  do  you  mean?  You  can't 


IS   THAT  ALL?  131 


suppose  I  was  alluding  to  him  wheu  I  spoke  of 
lying !  " 

"  Really  I  am  ashamed  of  you." 

"  Snub  the  parson,  did  she  ?"  said  the  church- 
warden with  some  glee.  "So  she  should  if  she 
wanted  to  !  Come  and  kiss  me,  my  duck,  and 
then  I'll  go  to  bed." 

The  embrace  was  bestowed  with  some  effu- 
sion, but  when  Lily  made  as  though  she  also 
would  retire,  her  mother  detained  her.  "Re- 
main for  a  few  moments,  my  child,  I  wish  to 
speak  to  you  very  seriously." 

Then  Lily  sat  down. 

"Have  you  never  reflected,"  inquired  Mrs. 
Rose,  with  some  pomp  and  some  pathos,  "what 
it  would  be  to  you  to  secure,  at  your  early  age, 
the  affection  of  a  man  like  Mr.  Warburton  ?  A 
man  of  the  greatest  personal  attractions  —  the 
most  sacred  profession  —  the  highest  family 
connections  —  the  noblest  type  of  character — " 

"No,    mamma,"   answered   the   young    lady 


132  IS   THAT  ALL? 

sweetly,  "  I  can't  say  that  I  have.  I  doii't 
'reflect  in  that  way  about  gentlemen,  unless  they 
particularly  request  it.  Did  you,  mamma?" 

"Lily,"  said  her  mother,  unmoved  to  smile, 
"you  are  unkind!  My  owrn  fate  is  fixed, — 
fixed  !  I  endeavor  to  accept  it."  She  pressed 
her  lace  handkerchief  for  a  moment  to  her  face, 
and  so  did  not  see  the  half-indignant  flash  of 
the  saucy  blue  eyes  returning  from  a  swift 
tour  of  the  splendid  room  with  a  look  that 
said  plainly,  —  "You  might  have  done  worse." 
"•But  I  would  fain,"  Mrs.  Anderson  continued, 
"see  you,  my. darling,  in  a  wholly  congenial 
sphere.  You  may  never  have  another  oppor- 
tunity like  the  present.  Think  twice  before 
you  reject  it." 

"  Certainly,  mamma  ;  but  I  cannot  reject  be- 
fore I  have  it,  you  know.  Now  may  I  go  ?  " 

"Without  bidding  your  mother  good-night?  " 

Then  Lily  kissed  her  other  parent  quietly, 
and  departed.  She  kissed  something  else,  also, 


IS   THAT  ALL? 


133 


in  the  dainty  privacy  of  her  rose-colored  cham- 
ber, and  a  very  hideous  photograph  it  was, 
exaggerating  the  uncomeliness  of  its  original 
with  the  brutal  frankness  peculiar  to  that  kind 
of  portrait.  The  ceremony  performed,  she  re- 
turned the  carte  to  its  place  in  her  illuminated 
Imitation,  and  then  proceeded  slowly,  and  with 
much  serious  bewilderment,  to  read  a  chapter 
in  that  saintly  book. 

The  contrast  between  the  choicest  and  purest 
of  all  cloistered  spirits,  and  the  wayward, 
worldly,  irreverent  girl  under  her  pink  draper- 
cries,  may  seem  too  ironical ;  but  after  all,  the 
belle  of  Guildford  had  certain  honest  sympa- 
thies and  vague  stirrings  in  the  direction  of  a 
higher  life,  which  appear  to  her  biographer 
more  affecting  than  absurd. 

He  on  whom  she  had  been  counselled  to  fix 
her  perverse  fancy  was  sitting  rather  gloomily 
by  his  boarding-house  grate,  making  anything 
but  Christian  reflections  on  our  climate,  and 


134  J8  THAT  ALL? 

re-reading,  without  increased  satisfaction,  the 
foreign  letters  which  had  detained  him  the 
evening  before.  He  owed  it  to  the  storm, 
however,  that  the  perturbation  of  his  spirit 
was  not  yet  farther  increased  by  a  cable  des- 
patch which  he  received  as  soon  as  the  wires 
•were  repaired,  and  which  was  thriftily  com- 
prised in  these  four  words,  — 
"  She  is  in  America  I  * 


CHAP.    VIII. 

THE    EARTHLY  PARADISE. 

T  TP  in  that  fair  mansion  on  the  tip-top  of 
^•^  River  Avenue,  the  dim  winter  weeks 
went  smoothly,  noiselessly  on.  How  precisely 
did  it  come  about  that  Mrs.  Drown,  to  whom 
the  shelter  of  a  big  house  had  been  graciously 
offered  for  the  first  days  of  her  utter  strange- 
ness in  Guildford,  was  now  established  as  a 
permanent  inmate  of  that  house,— nay,  even  so 
thoroughly  intrenched  there  that  she  had  had 
a  verbal  disagreement  with  the  mighty  Grant, 
and  had  come  off  with  flying  colors?  Mrs. 
Pryor  could  hardly  have  told  you,  nor,  in  her 
single-minded  devotion  to  the  business  of  the 
hour,  did  she  pause  to  consider  curiously  the 
conditions  of  her  own  unforeseen  and  abundant 
leisure.  If  her  spirits  were  at  a  lower  level  than 
135 


136  IS  THAT  ALLf 


usual,  and  she  felt  poignantly  at  times  that  she 
was  indeed  and  irretrievably  growing  old,  there 
was  plenty  of  reason  for  that ;  and  the  many  to 
whom  she  ministered  out  of  her  ample  wealth 
and  freedom,  had  never  liked  the  giver  of  the 
gift  so  well  in  her  old  imperious  days  as  they 
did  with  this  new  touch  almost  of  humility 
upon  her. 

The  Earthly  Paradise  lasted  longer  than 
might  have  been  expected  from  the  proverbi- 
ally fleeting  nature  of  such  a  state  of  things. 
Augusta  had  essayed  to  be  present  at  the  sec- 
ond reading,  with  a  knitted  wool  petticoat 
which  she  was  briskly  evolving  for  one  of  the 
old  ladies  at  the  Home,  and  a  long  pair  of  clut- 
tering needles,  each  more  substantial  than  a 
dandy's  cane.  She  thought  the  narrative  ex- 
traordinarily dull,  but  was  bravely  determined 
not  to  say  so,  and  nothing  was  further  from 
her  serene  imagination  than  that  Alfred  was 


IS   THAT  ALL?  137 


clenching  his  fists  unseen  at  the  sound  of  her 
industry. 

But  the  reader,  who  had  a  clever  way  of 
possessing  herself  of  her  matter  four  lines  in 
advance,  and  then  lifting  her  luminous  eyes  to 
her  audience  and  delivering  her  stanza  as 
though  it  were  an  improvisation,  discovered 
the  contracted  brow  in  the  midst  of  this  little 
performance,  and  instantaneously  utilized  it. 
She  paused,  and  slowly  turned  on  Mrs.  Pryor 
her  most  deprecating  and  fawn-like  gaze. 

"Dear  madam," she  said,  "pray,  pray  forgive 
me!" 

"With  all  my  heart!"  said  the  lady,  with 
brusque  and  slightly  contemptuous  good-nature. 
"What  for?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  bold ;  but,  if  you  did  not 
care  to  knit,  —  or  if —  if  you  did  not  care  to 
hear  at  all.  —  I  know  you  do  not  like  it,  Mrs. 
Pryor,"  she  cried,  with  one  of  her  pretty  little 


138  IS  THAT  ALLt 

bursts  of  sincerity,  M  and  I  can  never  read  with 
all  my  soul  when  any  one  does  not  like  it." 

w  I  can't  say  that  I  have  discovered  the  charm 
as  yet,"  replied  Augusta,  nonchalantly,  "  but  I 
have  been  willing  to  be  educated.  Did  the 
needles  really  disturb  you,  dear  ?"  turning  to 
her  husband.  "  Why  did  you  not  say  so  ?  " 

"The  least  in  life,  mon  amie,"  he  replied, 
penitently ;  "  but  don't  go  !  "  as  Augusta  rose 
and  swept  up  her  knitting.  "We'll  have  no 
more  reading  to-night." 

"  Indeed  you  will  I  It  would  be  monstrous 
in  me  to  grudge  you  such  pleasure  as  you  may 
derive  from  so  very  mild  an  exercise  !  I  can't 
consider  it  a  feast  of  reason,  but,  at  least,  I 
need  not  interrupt  Mrs.  Drown's  flow  of  soul." 
And  having  vented  her  momentary  anger  at 
what  she  merely  felt  as  a  bit  of  impertinence, 
she  smiled  frankly  on  them  both,  and  turned 
away. 

But  the  big  needles  became  weary  to  wield 


IS  THAT  ALL? 


139 


even  by  her  firm  muscles  in  the  solitude  of  the 
artistic  library ;  and  by  and  by  it  occurred  to 
Augusta  that  she  had  too  long  neglected  to 
inform  her  friend  Laura  Wyllys  of  the  easy 
and  remarkable  success  achieved  in  Guildford 
by  the  gifted  young  person  in  whom  Mrs. 
"Wyllys  had  interested  herself  the  summer 
before. 

So  she  retired  to  the  writing-table  and 
scrawled,  in  her  careless  fashion,  a  laconic 
account  of  it.  "  She  has  twenty-five  pupils  in 
elocution,  at  a  perfectly  romantic  price,  twice 
a  week,  in  our  billiard-room ;  has  given  one 
reading  at  the  Union ;  and  is  to  give  a  series  of 
four  in  March,  after  the  Astronomy  Course 
and  the  Grand  Army  Tableaux  are  over ;  and 
my  hypercritical  husband  enjoys  her  reading  so 
much  that  I  have  invited  her  to  remain  with  us 
during  the  winter  months.  He  can't  hear  her 
elsewhere,  and  her  board  would  be  something 
to  her,  you  know.  At  present  they  are  mean- 


140  IS  THAT  ALLT 

dering  through  William  Morris's  Earthly  Par- 
adise." 

To  this  report  Mrs.  Pry  or  received,  in  three 
days,  the  following  equally  characteristic  re- 
ply:— 

"I  never  in  my  life  knew  any  one  respond 
to  an  appeal  as  magnificently  as  you  do.  I 
declare  I  had  nearly  forgotten  that  taking  little 
creature  with  her  yellow  eyes.  You  must  know 
Prof.  Gryps  declares  that  ylavxank  means  hav- 
ing eyes  like  an  owl,  yellow,  and  extremely 
brilliant,  and  that  Pallas  Athena's  were  of  that 
kind, — not  stupid  blue  at  all.  "Well,  where 
was  I? — Oh,  Mrs.  Drown  I  I'm  delighted  that 
she  has  found  such  friends,  but,  as  I  say,  I  had 
almost  forgotten  her.  There  seems  to  be  more 
going  on  than  ever  this  winter.  In  the  first 
place,  we  are  all  studying  Sanscrit.  There's 
the  most  charming  East  Indian  prince  here, 
who  learned  English  somehow,  and  read  Chan- 


15  THAT  ALL?  141 


ning  and  Emerson,  and  voluntarily  expatriated 
himself  that  he  might  study  the  civilization 
which  produced  those  cosmic  thinkers.  We 
take  lessons  of  him,  and  he  is  asked  every- 
where. A  class  in  Gaelic  is  forming, — to  be 

taught  by  a   genuine   Highland   chieftain,  the 

\ 
last  of  the  Maclvors,  who  goes  to  parties  with 

his  pibroch,  and  sings  their  native  songs  in  the 
national  costume.  It  was  a  little  odd  at  first 
—  in  a  drawing-room  you  know,  —  but  one 
becomes  used  to  it,  and  the  plaid  is  pretty. 
Then  we  have  among  us  a  most  interesting 
Frenchman,  the  favorite  disciple  of  Auguste 
Comte,  —  the  only  person  in  whom  he  really 
confided  in  his  latest  days.  On  his  death-bed, 
the  philosopher  imparted  to  this  man  several 
important  secrets  which  throw  great  light  on 
the  practical  application  of  the  Positive  Philos- 
ophy, but  he  forbade  their  being  divulged  for 
a  certain  number  of  years.  The  time  has  now 
expired ;  and  M.  Renard  says  he  could  think 


I42  IS  THAT  ALL? 


of  no  city  but  our  own,  where  ideas  are  suffic- 
iently advanced  and  the  general  level  of  intelli- 
gence high  enough  to  hear  their  promulgation. 
So  he  is  delivering  a  course  of  lectures  — 
three  a  week,  and  every  one  attends  —  which 

he  calls  New  Illustrations  of  the  Positive  Phil- 
t 

osophy ;  and  they  are  to  be  published  by  sub- 
scription, in  a  book  entitled  The  Master's 
Bequest,  or  New  Illustrations,  etc. 

"  Besides  all  this,  and  the  usual  concerts  and 
fairs,  a  number  of  us  ladies  have  organized  a 
JBushelwomen's  Friend  Society,  and  we  take 
turns  every  week  in  inviting  the  bushelwomen 
to  our  own  dining-rooms,  and  giving  them 
sponge-cake  and  breakfast-tea,  and  some  sort  of 
intellectual  entertainment,  —  a  magic-lantern, 
for  instance.  ...  So  you  see  I  am  even  more 
than  usually  occupied,  and  the  children  have 
had  scarlatina  beside,  and  Peter,  my  hus- 
band, narrowly  escaped  pneumonia.  All  his 
own  fault !  Why  will  he  go  in  street-cars 


IS  THAT  ALLf  143 


without  an  overcoat  ?  But  you  will  not  wonder 
that  Mrs.  Drown  almost  escaped  me.  You  are 
an  angel  to  keep  her  in  your  house  for  the 
sake  of  saving  her  board ;  but  if  I  were  you 
I  would  look  after  her  and  Col.  Alfred  a  little, 
and  their  poetical  readings.  You  have  as  good 
as  owned  to  me  that  he  is  over-susceptible,  — 
fascinating  creature  that  he  used  to  be  himself! 
Poor  dear !  Is  he  always  just  the  same  ?  I 
wish  you  would  write  oftener. 

w  Ever  yours, 

"L.  T.  W. 

"P.  S.  — I  have  just  received  my  summons 
to   the  "Woman's  Suffrage  Convention  in  your 

State.     It  is  to  be  holden  at  L ,  so  I  shall 

have  to  pass  through  Guildford.  I  need  not 
tell  you  how  gratifying  it  would  be  to  me  if 
you  could  feel  like  joining  me  and  attending 
the  meetings ;  but,  at  all  events,  I  will  stop 
over  with  you  a  few  days  on  my  return.  What 


144  I8  THAT  ALLt 

with  home  cares,  and  more  weighty  responsibil- 
ities, I  am  growing  haggard  as  a  death's  head, 
and  do  really  need  a  little  rest." 

Mrs.  Pry  or  had  winced  at  the  expression 
"used  to  be."  —  "I  am  not  sure,"  she  re- 
flected, while  she  re-folded  the  letter,  "that 
I  want  to  see  her.  There  always  was  a  vein 
of  coarseness  in  Laura,  which  her  career 
seems  rather  to  develop."  But  naturally  she 
wrote  next  day,  begging  her  friend  to  come ; 
and,  having  Mrs.  Wyllys's  letter  before  her 
when  she  did  so,  she  smiled  as  she  reviewed 
the  last  of  that  lady's  avocations,  and  gave  the 
benefit  of  that  part  to  Isabel  Rae. 

Belle  had  come  in  from  the  lesson  in  the 
billiard-room,  as  she  was  rather  apt  to  do 
lately.  The  elder  and  younger  woman  were 
becoming  fond  of  one  another.  Neither  was 
very  demonstrative,  or  apt  at  sudden  enthusi- 
asms for  female  friends,  but  their  mutual  under- 


15   THAT  ALL?  145 


standing  and  confidence  grew  silently  every 
day.  Mrs.  Drown  had  also  looked  in  with 
Isabel,  but  refused  to  sit. 

"No,  no,"  she  said,  with  her  prettiest  air  of 
occupation.  "  It  is  time  now  for  me  to  go  and 
finish  the  Love  of  Alcestis.  You  have  been  so 
very  good  to  me,  madam,  that  I  am  busy  every 
single  moment ;  and  doubtless  I  cannot  afford 
to  be  idle."  So  the  sprite  had  vanished. 

wlt  was  Mrs.  Wyllys,  was  it  not,"  said 
Isabel,  after  laughing  a  little  over  the  letter, 
w  who  first  introduced  Mrs.  Drown  to  you?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  of  course  she  told  you  all  about  her. 
But  is  she  not  odd  ?  Does  she  talk  much  about 
her  past  life  ?  " 

*  Never.  I  fancy  that  it  has  been,  in  some 
ways,  very  painful,  and  so,  of  course,  I  have 
not  pressed  the  subject." 

"  Yet  she  does  not  appear  in  the  least  like  a 
stricken  woman." 

10 


146  IS  THAT  ALL? 

"I  think,  Belle,  that  any  widow  must  be 
stricken,  whatever  bearing  she  may  assume, 
or  however  try  to  repair  her  lot." 

Something  in  the  grave  simplicity  of  this 
remark  touched  Isabel  strangely.  Cold  peo- 
ple — as  they  are  called  —  like  her,  never  know 
when  their  feelings  are  going  to  overpower 
them.  A  sudden  mist  rushed  over  her  clear 
gray  eyes.  She  rose,  with  her  stately  step, 
and,  coming  round  to  where  Mrs.  Pryor  sat, 
she  kissed  her  lightly  on  the  forehead.  Au- 
gusta looked  up  a  little  surprised,  but  patted 
the  white  hand  that  rested  on  the  writing-table, 
and  then  proceeded  to  direct  her  letter. 

At  the  same  time,  by  an  odd  coincidence, 
this  was  what  was  passing  in  the  room 
above : 

"The  gods  at  least  remember  what  is  done,'" 
repeated  Alfred,  musingly,  as  the  echo  of  Mrs. 
Drown's  exquisite  cadence  died  away  on  the 
warm,  exotic-scented  air  of  the  chamber.  "Is 


IS  THAT  ALLt  147 


it  true,  I  wonder?  Sometimes  the  gods  appear 
to  me  of  all  beings  the  most  forgetful." 

"Who  are  the  gods?" 

"  What  a  startling  inquiry  I  They  are  those, 
according  to  Mr.  Morris,  who  never  forget." 

"  Then  I  do  not  love  them,  and  I  wish  there 
were  none." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  lady,"  said  the  invalid,  with 
his  charming,  melancholy  smile,  "you  are  a 
great  deal  too  young  and  too  highly  gifted  to 
be  in  love  with  oblivion.  For  me,  indeed — " 

But  she  interrupted  him  almost  vehemently. 

"No,  no  !"  she  cried,  and  the  suspicion  visited 
him  with  a  certain  shock  that  now,  for  the  first 
time,  he  heard  the  real  woman  speak.  "Do 
not  make  a  comparison  between  you  and  me  I 
There  is  no  su6h  thing !  Your  past  is  all  ease, 
and  wealth,  and  splendor  and  honor.  You  are 
ill  now,  indeed,  but  with  all  the  world  to  wait 
on  you  ;  and  by  and  by  you  will  be  well  again 
and  the  world  still  at  your  feet.  But  I  —  I  am 


148  IS   THAT  ALLf 


a  nothing  —  a  mockery!  friendless, — home- 
less. I  hate  the  past,  and  I  fear  the  future." 

Alfred  started ;  and  the  painful  flush  which 
a  fresh  realization  of  his  helplessness  always 
occasioned,  mounted  to  his  forehead.  "Surely," 
he  began  hurriedly,  "you  have  found  friends 
here,  and  you  have  no  new  trouble.  No 
thoughtless  disregard  —  " 

"No,  no,"  she  repeated  forlornly,  yet  with 
something  like  scorn.  "Madame  Pry  or  is  very 
kind,  and  every  one,  but  they  do  not  know. 
No  one  knows.  I  am  alone,  afraid.  When  I 
cannot  stay  here  any  longer,  where  can  I  go  ?  " 

"At  least,"  said  the  Colonel  in  a  low  voice, 
commanding,  by  a  strong  effort,  the  agitation 
of  which  he  was  ashamed ,  "  you  need  not  fear 
the  loss  of  a  shelter.  I  have  6ften  suspected 
that,  besides  your  recent  bereavement,  and 
though  you  are  so  brave  and  cheerful,  you 
have  some  sorrowful  secret." 

"Oh  I"  she  cried,  "I  have  nothing  else  ex- 


IS  THAT  ALL? 


149 


cept  sorrowful  secrets,  —  or  secrets,  however 
you  would  call  them  ;  "  and  she  began  to  wring 
her  slim  brown  hands. 

He  stretched  out  his  own  with  authority. 
"Come  nearer  to  me,"  he  said. 

Then  she  crept  forward,  as  though  unwill- 
ingly obedient,  to  where  he  could  grasp  both 
her  hands  and  hold  them.  "  You  must  confide 
in  me." 

"Oh,  ought  I?"  and  she  lifted  her  strange 
eyes,  and  fixed  them  on  space,  with  a  look  of 
distressful  inquiry. 

"  Most  assuredly  you  ought !  I  am  a  miser- 
able wreck  myself,  but  I  am  rich,  as  you  say, 
and  we  have  influence,  —  my  wife  and  I." 

Then  she  made  as  if  she  would  draw  her 
hands  away ;  but  he  took  no  notice  of  the 
gesture.  "You  can  hardly  have  a  trouble 
which  we  could  not,  at  least,  contrive  to  miti- 
gate. Poor  child  I  how  you  tremble.  Sit 
down." 


1 50  IS  THAT  ALL  f 


He  kept  hold  of  one  of  her  hands,  but  she 
stretched  out  the  other,  and,  as  though  moved 
by  an  irresistible  magnetism,  drew  the  low 
chair  to  the  side  of  the  couch,  and  dropped 
into  it. 

"  I  believe,"  he  went  on  gently,  **  that  it  would 
be  better  if  you  would  tell  me  your  whole 
story." 

"  Perhaps  it  might !     Perhaps  it  might !  " 

"  Well,  then  "  —  as  quietly  and  reassuringly 
as  he  could  speak. 

"  Ah,  I  don't  know  how  to  begin.  —  Hark  ! " 
she  cried  abruptly,  breaking  from  him  like  a 
bird,  and  darting  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
nearest  table,  where  she  seized  a  little  silver 
vase,  as  though  she  would  smell  its  flower. 
"  Some  one  is  coming  I  Yes,  yes  !  "  —  nodding 
her  head,  for  even  the  sensitive  ear  of  her  com- 
panion had  not  caught  the  sound.  "  It  cannot 
be  to-night,  you  see.  Another  time,  perhaps." 
And  she  glided  away. 


CHAP.     IX. 

ON   THE   ICE. 

ONOW-STORMS,  brief  thaws,  north  winds, 
^-^  and  deadly  cold  rain,  fog  and  sudden  cold 
again, — such  was  January  in  Guildford,  and 
a  direful  time  it  was  among  the  elements.  But 
after  the  mystical  crisis  of  Candlemas  Day  was 
passed,  came  a  season  of  truly  superb  winter 
weather.  The  sleighing  was  fine,  the  cold 
moderate,  the  sun  came  out  of  his  moods,  cast- 
ing all  sulky  vapors  aside,  as  if  forever,  and 
lingered  every  day  a  little  longer  in  the  rare 
blue  sky.  The  ruddy  sunsets  faded  unwillingly 
just  south  of  west,  only  to  be  succeeded  by 
starlight,  and  presently  moonlight,  of  almost 
incredible  clearness  and  brilliancy. 

And  now,  with  the  firm  closure  of  the  ice 
upon  the  river,  began  the  reign  of  one  of  the 
151 


152  IS  THAT  ALL? 


most  distinctive  and  delightful  amusements  of 
Guildford,  —  skating-parties  up  the  stream,  often 
with  a  cortege  of  sleighs,  for  the  less  adventur- 
ous, along  the  elm-shaded  river  road,  and  a  hot 
supper  and  dancing  at  one  or  another  of  the 
ample  old  country-houses  mentioned  in  our 
first  chapter,  where  usually  an  ancient  retainer 
or  two,  or  at  least  a  poor  relation,  kept 
the  tradition  of  life  alive,  during  the  winter 
months. 

Already  the  widowed  mother  of  Capt.  Mc- 
Arthur  had  received  Harry's  friends  in  her 
simple,  dignified  fashion  (they  were  far 
from  rich),  at  the  red-roofed  cottage,  whose 
modest  lawn  was  thought,  by  some,  the  greenest 
that  sloped  to  the  river  in  summer-time.  Then 
George  Aspinwall,  and  a  number  of  coadjutors, 
had  hired  the  dancing-hall  of  a  certain  ram- 
bling old  inn  —  one  of  the  curiosities  of  the 
region  —  and  given  a  rather  memorable  Ger- 
man there.  With  his  wonted  impartiality,  the 


IS  THAT  ALL?  153 


philosophic  attorney  had  applied  both  to  Miss 
Richards  and  the  Faxons  to  assist  him  in  dec- 
orating the  bare  and  somewhat  ghostly  hall; 
and  the  result  had  been  glorious  and  fluent  dis- 
agreement over  every  feature  of  the  adorning, 
which,  nevertheless,  when  complete,  was  pro- 
nounced picturesque,  if  a  little  bizarre. 

The  Andersons  had  no  summer  place  upon 
the  river,  but  it  was  not  Mrs.  Rose's  fault. 
With  her  own  missionary  spirit,  that  faithful 
wife  had  been  instant,  in  and  out  of  season,  in 
urging  upon  her  inconsiderate  lord  his  duty  to 
society  of  buying  the  first  estate  which  came 
into  the  market  in  the  charmed  region,  and 
erecting  an  overshadowing  villa  there.  "  Sha'n't 
do  it,  my  lady  ! "  had  been  his  obstinate  re- 
sponse. "Not  while  they  hold  their  land  at 
such  a  d — d  impudent  price  as  now  ! "  Then 
Mrs.  Anderson  had  looked  like  the  angel  who 
ef  blushed  when  he  gave  it  in,"  and  had  dropped 
the  subject  until  another  time. 


154  18  THAT  ALL? 

Lilian  cared  very  little  who  gave  the  parties 
at  this,  which  was  always  to  her  the  gayest  and 
most  triumphal,  season  of  the  year.  She  looked 
to  her  own  birthday  ball,  which  came  late  in 
March,  and  was  apt  to  be  the  costliest  enter- 
tainment of  the  year,  for  the  discharge  of  her 
social  debts ;  and  meanwhile,  she  was  a  con- 
summate skater,  fleet  and  perfectly  fearless, 
her  tall,  slim  figure  affording  at  every  turn 
a  new  revelation  in  grace.  Some,  indeed,  of 
those  who  liked  to  call  themselves  the  "  society 
men"  of  Guildford,  professed  to  prefer  the 
"action  "  upon  the  ice  of  Miss  Rae. 

w  Slower,  you  know  !  She's  two  stone  heav- 
ier, I  suppose,  but  more  stately  !  Less  of  the 
fairy  and  more  of  the  goddess ! "  Thus  the 
partisans  of  Isabel. 

In  like  manner,  the  girls  took  sides  about 
the  skating  costumes  of  the  rival  belles. 
Isabel's  was  of  clear  peacock  green,  bordered 
with  ermine,  and  well  did  that  most  difficult 


IS   THAT  ALL?  155 

of  colors  vindicate  the  splendor  of  her  pure, 
healthful  complexion,  and  nut-brown  hair, 
besides  having,  in  itself,  a  peculiar  harmony 
with  the  ice-bound  river  and  the  dazzling  land- 
scape. When  the  rumor  of  this  witching  dress 
reached  Lily's  ears,  she  perceived  the  emer- 
gency, and  acted  with  her  usual  promptitude 
in  at  once  proclaiming  her  intent  to  appear 
upon  the  river  in  light  scarlet,  with  black 
feather  trimming. 

"You  mean  creature,  with  your  golden 
curls  !"  cried  Emily  Richards,  the  ever  present, 
"to  go  and  choose  the  only  colors  which  we 
black-eyed  girls  can  wear." 

w  Nonsense  !  "  replied  the  young  strategist, 
w  one  color  is  as  good  as  another,  but  I  hate 
alwaj^s  having  the  same  slice  of  the  rainbow, 
and  I'm  sick  to  death  of  Nile  green  and  azure 
blue." 

"  It's  very  well  for  you  to  talk,  to  whom  one 


156  IS   THAT  ALLf 

color  is  as  good  as  another,  but  I  suppose  you" 
will  do  as  you  like." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Miss  Anderson  with  her 
seraphic  smile.  "Don't  I  always?  And  in 
this  case,  you  know,  I  must  extinguish  the 
Venus  of  Milo,  as  Mr.  Warburton  calls  her. 
I  had  been  thinking  of  very  dark  green,  with 
a  long  white  feather,  but  that's  all  over." 

Isabel,  on  the  other  hand,  would  never  admit 
that  there  was  any  rivalry  between  herself  and 
the  beautiful  blonde,  being  a  great  deal  too 
proud  to  confess  a  competition  where  her  own 
victory  was  in  the  least  doubtful.  She  was 
likewise  intolerant  of  social  obligations,  almost 
to  a  foible,  and  began  to  feel  it  high  time  that 
she  herself  were  playing  hostess  to  the  river 
"crowd."  But  now  two  difficulties  arose :  her 
mother  was  in  Washington  for  a  month,  and 
Miss  Rae,  for  all  her  apparent  aplomb,  had 
a  certain  shyness  about  entertaining  in  her 
absence.  And  Mrs.  Merril,  who  occupied  a 


IS  THAT  ALLT  157 


part  of  the  Rae  farmhouse  during  the  winter, 
had  lost  a  ehild  but  lately,  and  was  herself  ill 
with  rheumatism,  so  that  the  preparation  of  a 
feast  there  seemed  out  of  the  question.  When, 
however,  wondering  a  little  whither  had  fled 
her  old  especial  reserve  in  that  lady's  presence, 
Isabel  confided  her  dilemma  to  Mrs.  Pryor, 
Augusta  was  ready  with  a  remedy. 

"You  must  have  them  at  Orchard  Lawn, 
Belle,"  she  said  cordially.  (Orchard  Lawn 
was  the  Pryor  country-seat.)  "Jameson  and 
his  wife  are  there,  you  know,  and  if  Alfred  is 
as  usual,  I  will  go  up  and  receive  with  you. 
He  always  took  such  an  interest  in  your 
parties,  Isabel,  that  I  am  sure  he  will  like 
the  notion." 

And  Miss  Rae  was  presently  persuaded  to 
accept  the  favor. 

The  Colonel  approved,  certainly,  and  even 
made  some  rather  lavish  proposals  to  his  wife 
about  the  accessories  of  the  entertainment, 


158  18  THAT  ALL? 

but  his  chief  concern  seemed  to  be  that  Mrs. 
Drown  should  go. 

"  She  needs  it.  She  is  overworking.  You, 
Augusta,  who  are  so  strong,  don't  realize  her 
fragility,  but  she  grows  paler  and  more  troubled 
looking  every  day." 

"I  had  not  observed  any  change,  though,  to 
be  sure,  that  sort  of  complexion  don't  show 
paleness.  Well,  I  will  certainly  take  her  if 
she  will  consent  to  go.  So  far  she  has  refused 
all  the  invitations  that  have  been  given  her, 
and  I  must  say  I  think  very  properly.  And 
this  will  be  a  genuine  young  folks'  frolic  — 
dancing  and  all !  However,  if  you  have  de- 
tected that  she  is  pining  —  " 

K I  have  ;  and  I  think  she  will  go  if  I  request 
it." 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  the  wife  with  a  quizzical, 
yet  loving  look. 

And  so  it  was  that,  when  Isabel's  evening 
came,  with  a  glory  of  full  moonlight  in  the 


IS  THAT  ALL  f 


159 


purple  air,  that  was  like  a  new  and  more  deli- 
cate day,  Mrs.  Drown  spent  the  unexampled 
space  of  two  hours  in  the  retirement  of  her 
own  chamber,  and  emerged  thence  with  only  a 
fichu  of  cunningly  plaited  white  tulle  bound 
over  her  black  gown,  soft  ruffles  of  the  same  at 
her  throat  and  wrists,  and  one  star-like  white 
flower  in  her  crown  of  raven  hair.  Yet  the 
result  was  so  transforming,  that  even  her  self- 
poised  patroness,  meeting  her  in  the  gallery, 
started  with  astonishment. 

"  Good  heavens !  who  would  have  thought 
so  trivial  an  alteration  in  your  dress  would 
change  you  so?  Upon  my  word,  it  is  like 
magic,  and  vastly  becoming !  But  what  can 
you  wear  in  the  sleigh  that  will  not  crush 
those  fluffy  ruffles  ?  Ah  !  take  this  "  —  and  she 
pulled  a  great  white  fur  cloak  off  her  own 
ample  shoulders — "I  will  wear  another.  Now 
throw  it  around  you  —  so  !  —  and  go  show 
yourself  to  Col.  Pryor.  Ho  does  so  enjoy 


160  IS  THAT  ALL? 


an  effect !  I  will  go  with  you.  What  is 
it,  Annette?"  —  looking  over  the  balustrade. 
"  Some  one  for  rae  ?  Go  alone  then,  Mrs. 
Drown,  and  join  me  in  the  hall !  The  horses 
are  ready." 

So  the  white  apparition  dawned  noiselessly 
upon  Alfred  also. 

"  What  a  vision  ! "  he  cried.  "  It  is  the  very 
spirit  of  the  snow  !  I  always  thought  I  was  a 
disinterested  fellow,  and  now  I  know  it.  To 
give  up  my  one  pleasure  and  let  you  go  off  in 
that  guise  for  other  "  —  he  was  going  to  say 
men,  but  substituted  —  "  people  to  see  ! " 

Her  cheeks,  that  so  rarely  betrayed  any 
movement  of  the  blood,  grew  suddenly  red  in 
his  pause,  enhancing  infinitely  her  singular 
charm.  "I  would  a  great  deal  rather  stay 
here,"  she  said  in  her  most  dulcet  whisper, 
"  and  read  as  usual." 

"  Don't  humiliate  me  by  mentioning  it !  but 


IS   THAT  ALL? 


let  me  kiss  your  hand,  and  wish  you  one  eve- 
ning free  from  all  sadness  and  care." 

The  young  people  whom  we  know  best,  and 
many  more,  were  to  meet  at  the  Rae  house 
upon  the  Avenue,  take  the  river  from  thence 
and  skate  up  to  the  Farms  —  as  they  were 
collectively  called — in  company.  Miss  Ander- 
son came  attended  by  the  Englishman,  and  the 
fact  excited  not  a  little  comment  among  her 
young  compeers. 

WI  have  written  to  Charley  Mason  how  things 
are  going,"  murmured  Capt.  Me  Arthur  to  Isa- 
bel, who  had  gladdened  the  young  warrior's 
honest  heart,  unspeakably,  by  seeming  rather 
to  rely  on  him  in  her  preparations  for  the 
present  affair.  "I  thought  it  no  more  than 
right.  Charley  is  such  a  thoroughly  good 
fellow." 

M  Indeed  he  is.     Harry  —  " 

"Yes  — "  and  the  Captain  looked  so  eager 
that  Miss  Rae's  provoking  blush  arose,  as  she 
11 


1 62  IS  THAT  ALL? 

remembered  that  she  had  hardly  called  him 
by  his  Christian  name  since  they  rambled  the 
Louvre  together,  five  years  before. 

"Would  you  mind  going  up  to  the  house  with 
me  when  we  first  arrive  at  the  Farms,  to  make 
sure  that  the  fires  and  everything  are  all  right? 
Mrs.  Pryor  cannot  be  there  quite  so  early. 
The  others  will  go  on,  very  likely,  or,  at  any 
rate,  rove  about  for  a  while.  The  two  miles 
up  there  is  nothing ! " 

"Would  I  mind  I  Well,  I  should  rather 
think  you  might  know  by  this  time  that  all  my 
humble  ambition  is  to  be  of  use  !  " 

Lily  Anderson  looked  so  odd  that  night  in 
her  unusual  colors,  and  with  the  beauteous  hair, 
with  whose  coils  the  daring  maiden  loved  ordi- 
narily to  enhance  the  effect  of  her  height, 
braided  loosely  in  her  neck  three  times,  tied 
with  a  broad  black  ribbon,  and  falling  in  a 
cataract  of  golden  rings  the  whole  length  of 
her  slender  waist,  that  one  and  another  pro- 


IS  THAT  ALL?  163 


fessed  not  to  have  known  her  at  the  first 
glimpse,  although  all  agreed  that  she  was  never 
handsomer.  When  the  skating-seasoii  opened 
Mr.  "Warburton  had  been  quite  chagrined  to 
find  himself  eclipsed  in  one  athletic  exercise  by 
all  the  Yankee  youth  around ;  but  he  had  prac- 
tised vigorously  what  time  he  could  spare  from 
his  benevolent  labors,  and  was  now  quite  pro- 
ficient. He  was  even  complimented  on  his  per- 
formance, among  others  by  Miss  Eichards,  on 
whom  he  bestowed  an  absent  stare,  perfectly 
unmistakable  even  in  the  moonlight,  which 
seemed  to  say  that  he  had  never  observed  her 
before, — an  affront  which  that  young  woman 
registered  as  calling  for  early  vengeance. 

"  I  think  the  Briton's  elder  brother  must  be 
in  failing  health,"  she  observed  to  George  As- 
pinwall.  "Nothing  else  could  have  increased 
the  stiffness  of  his  island  spine." 

"How  he  does  hover  over  Lily  I  She's  a 
damsel  of  spirit,  and  I  have  thought  her  deci- 


1 64  IS  THAT  ALL? 

dedly  coy ;  but,  by  Jove  !  I  think  he'll  have 
her  yet,  by  the  help  of  Heaven  aud  her  fair 
mamma." 

Orchard  Lawn  was  an  old  mansion  of  a 
grander  type  than  most  of  those  at  the  Farms, 
and  occupying  a  commanding  position  on  a 
bend  of  the  river  which  became  extremely  sin- 
uous beyond  this  point,  and  offered  no  long 
vistas  for  many  miles.  All  the  lower  part  of 
the  house  was  lighted  when  it  came  in  view, 
especially  the  semicircular  southern  wing,  where 
•was  situated  a  fine  oval  dining-room,  —  Col. 
Pryor's  particular  pride.  Snow-paths  trav- 
ersed the  lawn  which  descended  to  the  river, 
among  the  scattered  fruit-trees,  affectionately 
preserved  in  their  hardy  old  age  as  picturesque 
in  themselves,  and  having  given  the  place  its 
name.  On  the  hither,  or  city  side  of  the 
estate,  there  were  also  a  boat-house  and  laud- 
ing, and,  from  these  to  the  dining-room  veran- 
dah, led  a  straight  path  bordered  by  tall  spruces 


IS  THAT  ALL  f  165 


closely  planted,  that  they  might  afford,  in  sum- 
mer, an  unbroken  shade.  This  path  had  been 
hung,  as  for  a  midsummer  fete,  with  Chinese 
lanterns,  which  cast  a  strange,  rose-colored 
light  upon  the  icy  footway  whereby,  having 
excused  themselves  at  the  landing,  Isabel  and 
her  cavalier  went  up  to  the  house,  all  the  rest 
having  derided  the  notion  of  seeking  shelter  so 
soon. 

The  two  were  received  by  Mrs.  Jameson,  the 
housekeeper,  clad  in  her  best  black  silk.  That 
excellent  woman  had  known  them  both  from 
babyhood,  and  welcomed  them  unceremoni- 
ously, but  with  an  air  of  high  satisfaction. 
w  There  !  Warm  yourselves  a  grain  fust  — 
Mis.  Pryor,  she  won't  be  here  for  half  an  hour 
—  and  then  come  and  take  a  look  at  the  dining- 
room." 

K  Oh,  we're  not  cold.     Show  us  at  once." 
The  folding-doors,  which  communicated  with 
the  hall,  were  thrown  triumphantly  open,  and 


1 66  IS   THAT  ALL? 


certainly  the  scene  was  charming.  The  noble 
room  was  all  draped  with  red,  white,  and  blue, 
and  these  were  days  when  those  colors  yet  hal- 
lowed every  feast  upon  which  they  shone.  A 
fine  trophy  gleamed  above  the  tall,  quaintly- 
carved  wooden  mantle ;  a  great  fire  blazed 
upon  the  hearth;  and  then  the  flowers,  —  the 
flowers  upon  the  table  ! 

Isabel,  whose  raptures  did  not  rise  readily  to 
her  lips,  could  little  more,  in  the  first  moment, 
than  sigh  her  admiration.  But  Me  Arthur, 
who  was  in  wonderful  spirits  that  night,  tossed 
his  cap,  and  gave  a  long  whoop  of  boyish 
ecstasy. 

"Who's  the  artist?"  he  cried.  "Mrs.  Jim- 
myson,"  turning  upon  her  with  the  old  nick- 
name which  he  had  adopted  when,  as  a  flaxen- 
haired  urchin,  he  used  to  tease  her  for  apples, 
"do  you  pretend  to  say  that  this  is  your 
work?" 

"I  did  just  what  I  was  told,"  replied  the 


IS  THAT  ALLf  167 


housekeeper,  bridling,  "and  there  was  others 
to  help  ;  and  I  think  it  looks  well." 

"  Well?  That's  what  I  call  restraint  in  style. 
Well?  Why,  it's  Orientally  magnificent  and 
unspeakably  splendiferous  !  Hallo,  mademoi- 
selle !  "  (Just  then  Mrs.  Jameson  was  called 
off  by  her  husband.)  "What's  the  matter  with 
you?" 

For  Isabel  had  taken  a  delicate  little  note 
from  the  tip-top  of  the  highest  flower-pyramid, 
and  was  reading  it  with  a  high  color  and  a  face 
that  betrayed  emotion. 

"It  is  all  the  Colonel's  doing,"  she  said, 
softly,  holding  out  the  note  to  her  companion. 
"He  has  lain  in  his  sick-room  and  contrived 
all  the  loveliness.  Whose  else  could  the  taste 
have  been?  Oh,  how  sweet,  how  generous  he 
is  !  How  few  people  understand  or  appreciate 
him ! " 

Capt.  McArthur  twirled  his  moustache  dryly, 
but  did  not  take  the  note.  "  The  decorations 


1 68  IS  TEAT  ALL? 

are  handsome,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  which  was 
no  longer  boyish,  —  intensely  mannish,  rather; 
"but  —  " 

"But  what,  pray?" 

He  strode  to  the  doors,  which  Mrs.  Jameson 
had  left  open,  and  shut  them  with  something 
approaching  a  bang.  "But  the  fact  is,  Isabel," 
he  said,  returning  and  looking  at  her  steadily, 
"  I  don't  like  them  the  better  for  knowing  thafc 
they  are  a  special  attention  from  Col.  Pry  or  to 
you." 

Belle  drew  herself  up  and  returned  him  her 
own  haughtiest  gaze.  "I  do  not  understand 
you,"  she  said. 

"Didn't  I  speak  plainly?  I  intended  it.  I 
have  always  admired  the  Colonel,  in  some 
ways,  and  have  defended  him  from  some  asper- 
sions in  my  time ;  but,  by  Heaven  !  I  am  out 
of  patience  with  that  inveterate  and  universal 
love-making,  which  it  seems  he  can't  suspend 
even  now  !  No,  thank  you  !  "  as  the  note  waa 


15  THAT  ALL  9  169 


disdainfully  pushed  a  little  nearer  him.  "I'm 
quite  familiar  with  his  complimentary  style. 
Who  isn't?  I  have  no  doubt  that  such  notes 
are  pleasant  for  a  lady  to  receive  —  " 

Isabel's  eyes  began  to  flash.  "You  are  for- 
getting yourself  strangely  ! "  she  said.  "  Even 
if  there  were  any  excuse  for  these  unworthy 
insinuations,  what  possible  right  have  you  to 
make  them?" 

"  Well,"  answered  McArthur,  in  a  low  tone, 
w  since  you  ask  me,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think 
gives  me  the  right.  I've  known  you  all  my 
life,  and  loved  you  ever  since  I  can  remember. 
You  know  yourself  that,  so  long  ago  as  when 
we  used  to  play  in  these  orchards  together,  we 
felt  that  we  belonged  to  one  another.  Then 
we  grew  up,  and  I  never  thought  twice  about 
any  other  girl.  Then  you  went  abroad,  and  I 
went  after  you.  I  didn't  think  there  was  the 
power  on  earth  or  heaven  to  call  me  oft'  and 
keep  me  away  from  you  for  years,  but  of 


I/O  IS  THAT  ALL? 

course  there  was  !  I  said  to  myself  that  you 
would  never  have  a  half-hearted  or  dishonor- 
able fellow;  and  that  such  an  one  would  not 
be  worthy  of  you." 

Isabel's  anger  was  fading  fast.  She  had 
a  hard  struggle,  if  he  had  but  known  it,  to 
keep  back  the  tears.  The  simple  soldier,  with 
his  young  life  full  of  action,  had  never  so  much 
as  read ,  — 

"  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honor  more." 

"  In  all  the  hardest  times  I  thought  most  of 
you.  Twice  I  supposed  I  should  never  see  you 
again.  Then  I  came  home,  and  here  you  were, 
more  beautiful  than  ever,  but  somehow  you 
were  changed.  You  were  distant  and  pre- 
occupied, and  I  could  not  come  at  you.  Then 
I  began  to  hear  it  whispered  that  my  old 
Colonel,  whom  I  loved  too,  admired  you  ex- 
tremely. I  knew  he  admired  everything  hand- 


IS   THAT  ALL  t 


I/I 


some,  and  thought  very  little  of  that,  but  when 
they  began  to  say  that  you  were  infatuated 
about  him  —  " 

Isabel's  lip  curled  again. 

WI  beg  3'our  pardon.  Good  girls  like  you 
don't  know  how  men  talk.  I  stamped  upon 
them  as  they  deserved,  and  swore  you  were  the 
favorite  of  the  house,  and  all  that ;  but  all  the 
same  I  could  not  help  seeing  that  you  were  in 
a  sort  of  dream,  and  I  said  to  myself  that  if 
your  thoughts  were  running  on  such  a  grand 
cavalier  as  that,  there  could  be  no  chance  what- 
ever for  a  fellow  like  me.  So  I  began  to  hate 
him,  and  was  mean  enough  to  be  a  little  glad 
when  this  long  illness  took  him,  as  I  hoped, 
out  of  the  way.  You  must  forgive  me  if  I 
have  said  anything  I  ought  not." 

There  was  a  silence  of  three  seconds,  and 
then  Isabel  sighed,  — 

"Oh,  Harry!" 

He  had  the  fine  instinct  which  does  not  need 


IS   THAT  ALLf 


to  reflect  before  seizing  an  advantage.  "Do 
you  mean,"  he  cried  impetuously,  "  that  you 
might  possibly  do  more  ?  Speak  quick  !  " 

"I  suppose  I  do.  I  mean  that  I  like  you 
just  as  well  as  I  ever  did." 

"  By  Heaven  !  I  want  something  more  than 
that.  Do  you  love  me  as  I  love  you?  Will 
you  marry  me,  if  ever  I  can  make  a  suitable 
home  for  you?  I've  idled  about  shamefully 
since  the  war,  but  it's  been  because  of  my 
doubt  and  disappointment  about  you.  Will 
you,  Belle?" 

"  Yes,  Harry." 

"O  God  I  can  it  be  true?  Give  me  one  kiss, 
my  blessed  girl ! " 

"Another!" 

"No,  no!" 

"  Hurrah  for  the  Colonel  now !  "  cried  the 
person  thus  repulsed,  as  his  eye  fell  once  more 
upon  the  splendid  flowers.  "Heaven  bless  him, 
and  all  his  dainty  devices !  What  a  deal  of 


15   TEAT  ALLt 


173 


money  he  must  have  spent !  After  all,  you 
who  never  served  under  him  don't  half  know 
what  a  hero  he  is  !  " 

"Stop  a  minute,  Harry,"  said  Isabel  with 
lofty  gravity,  "I  want  to  be  perfectly  honest 
with  you,  also." 

"Oh,  never  mind  about  that !" 

"But  I  choose.  I  did  once  worship  Col. 
Pry  or  in  a  way,  when  he  first  came  home.  I 
saw  him  constantly,  and  I  could  not  help  think- 
ing about  him  a  great  deal.  I  thought  him  a 
perfect  model  of  manners." 

"Well,  and  so  he  is!  I'll  fight  it  out  on 
that  line  with  anybody." 

"But  I  liked  his  manners  to  me  !  I  liked  his 
flattery,  —  oh,  so  much  !  I  liked  my  privilege 
of  going  there  at  any  time.  I  wasn't  in  love 
with  him  —  " 

"  My  darling,  you  can't  suppose  I  meant  to 
imply  it ! " 

"But  I   did  think   that  whoever  loved   me 


1/4  IS  THAT  ALL? 


must  be  a  good  deal  like  him,  and  love  me  in 
just  that  way." 

"  I'll  try  to  do  it  in  any  way  you  prefer." 

"  Nonsense !  What  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand is,  that  he  was  my  beau-ideal." 

"  And  quite  naturally  !  I  should  n't  much 
wonder  at  a  woman's  breaking  her  heart  for 
him." 

"I  never  was  anywhere  near  that!  My 
heart  is  not  of  a  fragile  kind,  I  fancy  !  But 
I  thought  no  other  outsider  knew  the  real 
beauty  of  his  character  as  I  did,  and  I  was 
very  much  distressed  when  he  became  so  ill." 

"So  was  every  lady  in  Guildford,  I  verily 
believe ! " 

"But  this  winter,"  continued  Miss  Rae  ex- 
plicitly, "although  so  kind,  as  you  see,  he  has 
quite  left  off  petting  me.  He  could  not  endure 
hearing  me  read,  and  then  came  Mrs.  Drown, 
whose  voice  was  perfectly  soothing  and  charm- 
ing to  him." 


IS   THAT  ALLt  175 

"  That  little  actress  !     By  Jove  ! " 

"  And  so,  although  I  have  been  there  almost 
every  day,  it  has  been  more  than  formerly  to 
see   Mrs.  Pryor,  who   I  do  think,  Harry,  L 
about  the  grandest  woman  alive.     It  has  no 
been  quite  as  fascinating  as  it  used  to  be,  bu 
I  think  somehow  it  has  been  more  healthful 
Hark  !     There  are  their  bells  now.'* 

w  Then  give  me  one  more  kiss  !  " 

Capt.  Harry  was  not  a  curious  analyst  of 
character,  but  he  knew  too  much  to  expect 
Isabel's  first  embraces  to  be  very  ardent. 

It  was  ordained  that  there  should  be  more 
than  one  order  of  love-making  at  that  winter 
festival. 


CHAP.    X. 

BREAKING   THE   ICE. 

TF  Miss  Anderson  looked  unlike  herself  in 
-*•  the  weird  brightness  of  that  memorable 
evening,  an  undeniable  change  had  also  passed 
over  the  manners  of  Mr.  Warburtou.  It  did 
not  appear  at  first,  but  was  gradually  borne 
in  upon  the  consciousness  of  the  scarlet-clad 
maiden  as  she  felt  his  blue  eyes  continually 
fastened  upon  her,  amid  all  her  wonderful  dart- 
ings  and  skimmings  and  spirals,  and  had  some 
ado  to  avoid,  at  every  turn,  the  perfectly  super- 
fluous assistance  of  his  well-developed  arm. 
There  had  always  been  something,  in  his  mut- 
tered and  stammering  style  of  compliment, 
which  had  tickled  the  girl's  reckless  humor ; 
but  all  the  amusement  which  he  had  hitherto 
furnished  her  in  this  way,  was  as  nothing  to 
178 


18'  THAT  ALL? 


the  entertainment  provided  for  her  this  evening. 
She  was  convinced,  however,  as  she  had  often 
fancied  before,  that  he  made  fitful  and  inef- 
cclual,  but  wholly  serious,  attempts  to  restrain 
even  these  halting  gallantries,  and,  piqued  by 
this  notion,  and  by  the  excitement,  and  a 
certain  license  of  the  occasion,  she  lured  him 
on  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  detecting  his 
periodic  dismay  lest  he  should  indeed  have 
committed  himself.  Her  superior  skill  upon 
the  ice  gave  her  a  constant  advantage  in  her 
tactics  of  advance  and  retreat,  and  the  dance 
which  she  led  him,  about  island  and  cove,  was 
one  calculated  to  bewilder  any  but  an  extremely 
active  and  versatile  brain. 

Gradually  they  withdrew  a  little  from   the 
rest,   and    this,   also,   was    partly    by   design 

on   Lily's  part,  for  the  Englishman's  bearing 

» 
toward   the  other  members  of  the  party  was 

unusually  distant,  and  almost  supercilious,  and 
she  was  unwilling  to  have  her  friends  exposed 
12 


1 78  IS  THAT  ALLt 


to  more  of  what  they  called  his  rudeness  than 
was  needful.  Once,  when  she  paused  for  a 
moment  facing  him,  and  resting  her  delicate 
cheek  against  the  little  black  muff  which  she 
carried,  he  exclaimed,  with  an  impetuosity 
which  rendered  his  utterance  positively  dis- 
tinct,— 

"  'Pon  me  soul,  Miss  Anderson,  I  wish  you 
would  not  look  at  me  like  that." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Lily,  beginning 
to  chassez.  "  What  is  wrong  with  my  looks  ?  " 

w  But  you  can't  think  how  supernaturally 
lovely  you  are,  you  know." 

She  moved  off  a  little  at  this,  but  the  thought 
darted  into  her  naughty  head  that  it  would  be 
agreeable,  for  many  reasons,  actually  to  refuse 
him.  So  she  flashed  her  starry  eyes  upon  him, 
and  he  followed  hard  after  her  until  she  chose 
to  rest  again. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  with  an  air  of  impartial 
criticism,  "that  you  improve  steadily." 


IS  THAT  ALL? 


179 


"  I  think  you  grow  more  distracting  steadily." 

"  Of  course  that  cannot  be  meant  for  a  com- 
pliment." 

"It  means,  Miss  Anderson,  that  if  it  were 
not  for  the  barriers  between  us — " 

("  Oh,  ho !  "  thought  Lily,  pursing  her  lips 
with  the  utmost  Republican  rancor,  "  he's 
alluding  to  his  distinguished  relations.") 

"  Barriers  of  which  you  have  no  conception." 

("Indeed,  he  considers  their  grandeur  be- 
yond my  imagination ,  even  ! ") 

"I'd  throw  myself  at  your  feet,  this  mo- 
ment !  * 

"Pray  don't,"  interrupted  the  young  lady, 
earnestly,  "  the  ice  is  very  treacherous  in  some 
places  on  this  river.  I'd  advise  you  by  all 
means  to  keep  your  footing,  Mr.  Warburton, 
if  you  can." 

She  turned,  suddenly,  as  she  spoke,  and 
skimmed  away  up  the  stream.  Like  some 
wonderful  bird,  he  thought,  with  her  yellow  hair 


THAT  ALLf 


floating  behind  her  in  the  place  of  plumage,  — 
and  of  course  he  followed.  The  sound  of  his 
coming  spurred  her  on,  and  such  a  power  of 
fleet  motion  seemed  to  enter  into  her  as  she  had 
never  experienced  before,  save  once  or  twice, 
perhaps,  on  daring  horseback  rides  or  in  dreams 
of  flying.  Faster  and  faster  yet,  —  the  keen 
air,  the  dazzling  moonlight,  the  sense  of  un- 
imagined  victory  over  time  and  space,  the  tri- 
umph over  her  halting  lover,  —  all  helped  to 
intoxicate.  She  turned  her  graceful  head  from 
time  to  time,  and  exulted  to  see  her  pursuer 
falling  behind.  An  ideal  of  unfettered  move- 
ment had  haunted  her  insubordinate  spirit  in 
its  waking  as  well  as  its  midnight  dreams,  and 
all  at  once  her  conception  seemed  on  the  point 
of  being  realized. 

Presently  the  exhilaration  of  her  flight  over- 
powered every  other  emotion,  and  she  forgot 
even  that  she  was  followed.  The  image  of  the 
man  whom  she  had  just  saucily  defied  gave 


IS  THAT  ALL? 


place,  by  a  natural  law,  under  the  excitement 
of  this  weird  voyage,  to  that  of  the  perpetual 
hero  of  her  girlish  dreams.  He  rose  before 
her,  idealized  of  course,  but  homely,  manly, 
and  dear,  and  she  did  him  fresh  homage  in 
heart.  She  saw  what  life  might  be  with  him 
—  a  whole,  long,  vividly-realized  future  — 
simple  and  serious  and  beneficent,  with  a  vague 
suggestion  of  blooming  roses  and  country  ways 
about  it ;  arduous  and  yet  sweet ;  free  from 
the  showy  unreality  and  petty  exasperations  of 
her  home ;  sublimely  innocent  of  the  pomps 
and  vanities  whereon  she  doated  so  much  less 
than  the  world  supposed.  One  person  could 
make  her  gladly  independent  of  these.  She 
called  to  him  in  her  heart,  to  come  and  take 
her  away  into  that  simpler,  safer  life.  She 
was  no  longer  conscious  even  of  smoothly 
speeding  on. 

But   not   being,    in   fact,    disembodied,  our 
heroine  was  presently  visited  by  a   sense   of 


1 82  IS  THAT  ALLf 

something  like  exhaustion.  She  had  small 
idea  how  far  she  had  come ;  but  feeling  sud- 
denly compelled  to  rest  and  gather  breath,  she 
neared  a  little  wooded  island  which  here  di- 
vided the  stream,  seized  a  bare,  depending 
branch,  and  swung  herself  upon  a  prominent 
rock,  blown  bare  by  the  winds,  to  recover  her 
forces  and  await  the  coming  of  her  follower. 

He  was  nowhere  in  sight ;  but  he  could  not, 
in  the  nature  of  things,  have  been  visible  at 
any  considerable  distance.  Wherefore,  in  the 
interval  before  he  should  appear,  Miss  Ander- 
son began  to  observe  the  section  of  river  land- 
scape immediately  about  her,  and  was  a  little 
startled  to  perceive  that  it  was  unfamiliar. 

On  one  side  of  her  the  shore  of  the  stream 
was  closely  wooded.  On  the  other,  there  were 
open  glades  ;  and  beyond,  what  might  be  culti- 
vated fields  snow-clad.  But  there  was  no 
human  habitation  in  sight,  nor  a  single  sound 
to  break  the  crisp  stillness,  except  the  strange 


IS  THAT  ALL?  183 


whisper  of  the  lightly-blowing  wind  among  the 
leafless  twigs. 

Fear  was  a  sensation  which  Lily  hardly 
knew ;  but  it  did  occur  to  her,  while  she  began 
to  strain  her  eyes  and  ears  for  some  token  of 
her  gallant's  approach,  that  her  predicament 
might  possibly  prove  an  awkward  one. 

What  if  he  had  come  to  grief  among  the 
windings  of  that,  to  him,  unknown  river  when 
equally  distant  from  herself,  and  from  the 
party  which  they  had  left  so  unceremoniously  ? 
It  was  perfectly  evident  that  her  own  madcap 
flight  had  been  much  fleeter  than  she  herself 
supposed,  and  she  hardly  liked  to  guess  how 
far  she  might  now  be  from  Orchard  Lawn. 
She  must  go  back  at  once. 

But  though  fully  to  be  acquitted  of  any 
cowardly  care  for  conventions,  Miss  Lily  was 
acutely  conscious  of  her  solitude,  besides  being 
fairly  spent  with  the  reckless  rapidity  of  her 


1 84  IS  THAT  ALL? 

flight  to  this  lone  spot,  and  she  felt  an  almost 
unconquerable  reluctance  to  move. 

While  rallying  her  energies,  however,  she 
detected  a  sound,  —  a  soft  gliding,  a  slight 
crunching.  Somebody  was  coming  at  last. 
But  hark  !  Was  it  not  from  the  wrong  direc- 
tion? Yes,  indeed  !  It  was  a  solitary  skater, 
—  a  man,  of  course,  coming  rapidly  down  the 
stream.  Lily  could  not  see  him,  for  he  was 
behind  the  wooded  islet,  and  she  devoutly 
hoped  that  he  might  pass  without  observing  her 
in  her  extraordinary  costume  and  equally  extra- 
ordinary position. 

There  was  a  moment  of  suspense,  during 
which  the  scarlet  nymph  held  her  breath  and 
drew  back  as  far  as  possible  under  the  shade  of 
the  winter  boughs.  Then  she  heard  the  swift 
sweep  of  the  voyager  around  the  little  point  at 
her  left.  A  strong  figure  stopped  short,  and 
then  sprang  forward,  and  a  well-known  voice 


IS  THAT  ALLf 


cried  out  in  accents  of  rather  stern  amaze- 
ment, — 

*  Lilian  Anderson !  How  came  you  here  ? 
Who  is  with  you  ?  " 

"  Good  gracious,  Cousin  Charley !  I  never 
was  so  glad  to  see  any  one  in  my  life  !  Where 
am  I,  pray  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  where  you  are  ?  Are  you 
alone  ?  What  sort  of  a  crazy  escapade  is  this  ? 
Are  you  alone,  I  say  ?  " 

WY  —  yes.  N  —  no,  not  exactly.  I  expect 
that  Englishman  every  moment." 

"  Oh,  you  do  !  It's  an  eligible  place  for  an 
appointment,  at  nine  o'clock  at  night,  six  miles 
from  home ! " 

"  Heavens  !  Is  it  really  so  far  ?  I  began  to 
think  I  had  come  an  immense  distance,  and  it 
all  looked  so  strange." 

Her  degagj  air  softened  his  wrath  a  little,  in 
spite  of  himself.  "You  know  the  place  well 
enough,"  he  said.  "WVve  often  boated  up 


1 86  IS  THAT  ALL? 

here.  It  is  where  those  farm  buildings  were 
burned  in  the  autumn.  It  was  their  absence 
which  made  it  look  unfamiliar." 

"Ah,  I  see!  but  —  four  miles!  We  came 
from  Orchard  Lawn,  you  know." 

"I  know  nothing  about  it.  Perhaps,  now, 
you  will  be  good  enough  to  explain." 

"Hoity-toity!  How  did  you  come  here 
yourself?  " 

"  I  left  the  Guildford  train  three  miles  north, 
at  the  Junction,  for  the  express  purpose  of 
skating  down  the  river." 

"  That's  very  satisfactory,  at  all  events." 

"  Can  you  be  equally  explicit  ?  " 

"I  suppose  I  can,  if  I  choose.  But  where 
do  you  think  that  man  can  be,  Charles?" 

"  I  neither  know  nor  care.  I  know  that  you 
will  not  be  abandoned  to  his  protection  again 
to-night,  however  you  escaped  it." 

"  Escaped  ?  How  clever  you  are  !  If  you 
must  know,  that's  exactly  what  I  did.  I  ran 


15  THAT  ALL  f  187 


away  from  him.  Belle  Kae  has  a  party  at 
Orchard  Lawn  to-night,  and  we  were  all  out 
on  the  ice.  He  was  uncommonly  disagree- 
able—" 

"Then,  at  least,  you  do  not  care  for  him, 
Lily-" 

"Don't  interupt!  You  can  judge  for  your- 
self. I  tell  you  he  was  hateful,  both  in  the 
airs  he  put  on  to  the  rest,  and  in  his  flatteries 
to  me.  So  I  drew  him  off  from  the  others 
first,  and  then  started  away  merely  to  tease 
him.  I  don't  quite  know  whether  I  meant  him 
to  follow  me,  but  he  did  for  awhile.  Then  ho 
fell  behind,  and,  finally,  was  out  of  sight;  but 
something  wild  was  in  me,  I  think,  for  I  kept 
on  until  I  dropped  upon  this  rock  to  rest." 

w  Where  you  must  not  sit  still  another  mo- 
ment !  I  fear  you  have  taken  cold  already." 

"  Oh,  no  !  I'm  still  aglow ;  but  I  begin  to 
think  that  something  has  happened  to  Mr. 
Warburton." 


1 88  IS   THAT  ALLf 


"I'm  not  alarmed.  He  is  a  good  skater, 
isn't  he?" 

"  He  is  learning  fast ;  but  he  don't  know  the 
river,  of  course,  and  I  suppose  there  are  dan- 
gerous places  in  it,  as  usual." 

"  Plenty  of  them  1  What  a  reckless  girl 
you  are !  Yes,  we  had  better  go  back  at 
once."  And  he  took  the  little  fur-clad  paw 
which  Lily  extended  meekly  as  any  kitten,  and 
assisted  her  to  descend  from  her  perch  and 
regain  her  balance  on  the  ice.  Then,  to  her 
surprise,  he  hesitated  before  starting. 

"You  have  relieved  my  mind  so  far,"  he 
said,  "that  I  believe  I  shall  tell  you  something 
which  may  help  to  explain  my  abruptness  —  " 

"Oh,  that  requires  no  explanation,  I'm  sure," 
she  interrupted,  saucily. 

His  next  step,  however,  was  to  take  off  his 
overcoat. 

"  What  are  you  doing  that  for  ?  Ridiculous 
nonsense !  Do  you  suppose  I'll  put  on  that 


IS  THAT  ALLt  189 


thing  ?     I  tell  you  I'm  perfectly  glowing.     Take 
it  away ! " 

But  the  masterful  individual  so  vivaciously 
adjured  only  imprisoned  her  two  resisting 
hands,  muff  and  all,  in  one  of  his,  and,  with 
the  other,  threw  the  rough  garment  around  her 
shoulders  and  held  the  breasts  of  it  together. 

w  I'm  not' sure  I  ought  to  speak  before  I  have 
proof,"  said  he,  "but  I  have  some  reason  to 
believe  that  the  man  with  whom  you  have  just 
run  your  insane  race,  has  been  deceiving  you 
all." 

w  No,  Charles  !  It  would  be  too  much  hap- 
piness !  This  is  the  very  thing  I  have  desired, 
but  dared  not  hope.  What,  not  a  Bishop's 
nephew,  after  all?  Oh,  say  a  lackey!  Say  a 
navvy  I  " 

"No,"  replied  Mason,  gravely.  "If  he's 
the  man  I  suppose,  his  social  position  is  ex- 
actly what  he  claims.  Nor  do  I  see  any  proper 
ground  for  exultation  in  the  misdemeanors  of  a 


IS  THAT  ALL  f 


clergyman.  But  there  is,  at  least,  an  unworthy 
mystery  about  him." 

"  What  sort  of  misdemeanors  ?  " 

w  I  cannot  explain." 

Then  he  released  her  from  his  overcoat  and 
resumed  it  himself,  and  the  two  set  forth. 
Presently,  Lily,  — 

"  How  did  you  learn  this  ?  "  • 

"  Casually,  through  a  letter  from  a  friend 
abroad.  Mind,  I  don't  know  it.  I  ouly  be- 
lieve." 

"  All  the  better  !  I  think  I  have  heard  you 
say  that  faith  is  higher  than  knowledge." 

"I  wouldn't  jest  about  it,  if  I  were  you," 
said  her  companion,  rather  grimly.  "Your 
levity  had  like  to  have  led  you  a  deal  too  far." 

"My  levity,  is  it?  I  think  what  you  so 
handsomely  term  my  levit}^  has  been  the  only 
Having  clause  in  the  whole  affair.  What 
do  you  say  to  mamma's  credulity,  and  Dr. 
Price's?" 


15  THAT  ALL  t 


WI  think  they  -will  be  more  scrupulous 
another  time." 

They  had  now  rounded  the  first  point  on 
their  return  voyage,  and  no  one  was  in  sight. 
What  if  he  had  drowned  himself  of  his  own 
accord,  the  lively  young  lady  suggested,  or 
taken  this  opportunity  to  escape  altogether  ? 

"I  don't  credit  him  with  so  much  fore- 
thought," was  the  answer.  "I  only  dread  an 
accident." 

But,  at  the  second  turning,  a  figure  loomed 
up  at  a  considerable  distance,  in  which  the  keen 
eyes  of  Miss  Anderson  at  once  recognized  her 
whilom  cavalier,  and  she  nodded  the  fact  to 
her  present  rather  sombre  protector.  The  ex- 
planation of  Mr.  "VVarburtou's  delay  was  really 
simple  enough.  He  had  been  far  outstripped, 
but  was  pressing  on,  as  in  duty  bound,  when 
the  fastenings  of  one  of  his  skates  gave  way, 
and  he  had  sought  the  shore  to  repair  it.  The 
process  to  his  unskilled  fingers  was  a  long  and 


192  IS  THAT  ALL  t 

imperfect  one ;  and  he  found  himself  com- 
pelled, when  he  took  the  ice  again,  to  proceed 
more  slowly  and  cautiously  than  hitherto,  in 
his  pursuit  of  the  strange  little  refugee.  He 
appeared  to  descry  the  two  coming  figures 
almost  immediately  after  they  discovered  him, 
and,  when  he  had  done  so,  he  hesitated, 
stopped,  and  finally  turned,  and  retreated 
slowly  before  them. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  he  thinks  of  me  ? " 
asked  Lily,  naively,  after  some  moments  of 
reflection. 

"  I  cannot  say.  Perhaps  it  would  be  worth 
while,  in  future,  to  consider  beforehand  what 
people  are  likely  to  think  and  say." 

"  Very  well !  But  I  wouldn't  be  a  Polar 
Bear." 

Then  stern  Justice  relaxed  a  little  about  the 
corners  of  the  eyes,  and  there  was  the  faintest 
possible  squeeze  of  the  elbow  which  Mr.  Mason 
was  supporting. 


15   THAT  ALL  f  193 

They  went  on  in  this  wa}r, —  the  distance 
between  them  and  the  advancing  figure  inevit- 
ably lessening  a  little,  until  Orchard  Lawn  was 
once  more  in  view,  and  the  question  of  how 
they  should  bear  and  how  explain  themselves, 
began  to  harass  not  a  little  the  souls  of  the 

O 

truants.  The  ice  appeared  deserted.  The 
revellers  had  seemingly  all  sought  the  house. 
All  at  once  Miss  Anderson,  who  had  been 
moving  on  a  little  languidly,  and  with  eyes 
cast  down,  felt  her  companion  start  and  with- 
draw his  supporting  arm,  with  a  smothered 
exclamation.  She  looked  up  and  saw  it  all. 
The  figure  in  advance  of  them  had  stopped 
again,  struggled  frantically  for  an  instant,  then 
its  foothold  crashed  beneath  it,  and  it  was 
gone ! 

Mason  swept  onward  and  flung  himself  prone 
upon  the  ice  at  the  edge  of  the  terrible  chasm. 
Lily  darted  to  his  side. 

*  Go  on  !  *  he  said.     "  Tell  the  others  I" 

13 


194  IS  THAT  ALL? 

n  I  won't  leave  you  ! " 

"  Go  on,  I  say  !  Call !  Fly  I  I  shall  need 
help." 

Just  how  she  obeyed  this  order,  Miss  Ander- 
son never  knew.  She  only  knew  that  she  met 
some  one  on  the  ice,  and  gasped  out  her  tale 
before  she  gained  her  goal.  But  she  turned 
very  dizzy  as  her  feet  touched  the  bank,  and 
had  but  a  confused  recollection  of  being  helped 
up  across  the  lawn,  while  a  score  of  men  were 
running  wildly  down  it  to  the  shore.  "When 
she  came  fully  to  herself,  she  was  sitting  on 
the  lower  step  of  the  great  hall-staircase,  at 
the  Lawn,  and  Belle  Rae  had  her  arm  about 
her  and  was  trying  to  make  her  swallow  some 
wine  out  of  a  spoon,  held  in  a  rather  tremulous 
hand.  The  wide  front  door  was  open.  The 
cold  night  air  blew  in  and  flared  the  lamps. 
A  few  of  the  girls  were  running  about  nerv- 
ously, and  wringing  their  hands.  Others  hud- 
dled together  pale  and  speechless.  Mrs.  Pry  or 


IS  THAT  ALL  f 


195 


was  issuing  steady  orders  to  have  restoratives 
in  readiness  in  the  housekeeper's  room,  which 
opened  oft'  the  hall,  and  had  been  prepared  as 
.1  coffee-room.  Mrs.  Jameson  and  Mrs.  Drown 
appeared  to  be  quietly  obeying  her. 

"What  is  it? "said  Lily  in  her  bewilderment. 
"Are they  safe?" 

"  Oh,  we  don't  know  yet.     Hark ! " 

There  was  a  faint  sound,  like  a  cheer,  from 
the  direction  of  the  river. 

Mrs.  Pryor  stepped  out  upon  the  verandah, 
and  most  of  the  terror-stricken  trooped  after 
her.  George  Aspinwall  was  running  up  the 
lawn,  and  when  he  saw  them  he  waved  his 
hat. 

"It's  all  right!"  he  shouted.  "The  man's 
alive,  and  coming:  to  himself.  Charles  Mason 

O 

appears  to  have  dropped  from  heaven  and 
pulled  him  out  of  the  water  somehow,  but  it 
was  a  hard  tussle.  They  are  bringing  him  up 


196  IS  THAT  ALLt 

here,  Mrs.  Pryor.  Have  you  blankets,  and 
brandy  and  things  ?  " 

"  Everything  is  ready." 

"And  I  should  say,  if  possible,  some  dry 
clothes  for  Mr.  Mason." 

"Certainly.  There  are  plenty  of  Mr.  Pryor's 
here.  Girls,"  said  Mrs.  Augusta,  facing  round 
upon  her  fluttering  followers,  "you  had  better 
all  go  back,  and  keep  out  of  the  way.  Had 
they  not,  Mr.  Aspiuwall?  Go  into  the  parlor, 
or  dining-room,  or  anywhere,  but  don't  obstruct 
the  passage  !  "  And  she  returned,  driving  hei 
flock  before  her,  but  overlooked  the  group 
upon  the  stairs,  where  Lily  had  started  up 
and  clasped  her  hands  at  the  sound  of  Mr. 
Aspin wait's  voice,  and  was  now  sobbing  in  a 
smothered  fashion,  with  her  head  on  Isabel's 
knee.  Mrs.  Drown,  also,  whose  unexpected 
efficiency  Augusta  had  found  time  to  note  and 
silently  commend,  remained,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  by  the  side  of  her  patroness,  when  the 


IS   THAT  ALLf 


197 


young  men  slowly  brought  in,  and  deposited 
upon  an  improvised  couch  in  the  coffee-room, 
their  half-conscious  burden. 

It  was  a  solemn  procession,  although  so 
much  less  awful  than  it  might  have  been ;  and 
it  would  not  have  been  very  surprising  if,  at 
the  exciting  moment  of  its  arrival,  no  one  had 
been  observing  little  Mrs.  Drown.  But  it  so 
happened  that  Mr.  Aspinwall  did  glance  her 
way,  and  he  saw  what  spurred  his  curiosity  to 
professional  alertness.  He  saw  her  eyes  dilate, 
when  they  fell  on  the  prostrate  figure,  and  a 
sudden  whiteness  come  around  her  lips.  He 
saw  her  start  forward,  with  an  action  that 
seemed  to  him  like  the  spring  of  some  lithe 
animal,  then  check  herself,  and  stand  stock 
still,  with  her  hands  a  little  clenched,  as  he 
fancied,  and  her  face  fixed  in  a  concentrated 
expression,  whose  exact  meaning  he  found  it 
impossible  to  decipher.  She  retained  her 
trance-like  posture  until  partially  aroused  by 


198  IS  THAT  ALL? 

some  one  brushing  past  her,  then  retreated, 
still  as  in  a  kind  of  dream,  and  sank  down 
upon  the  seat  of  one  of  the  broad  windows 
which  flanked  the  hall-door,  where  she  absently 
pulled  the  red  woollen  curtain  about  her,  as 
if  unconsciously  trying  to  shield  herself  from 
observation. 

This  was  interesting.  The  lawyer  roamed 
vigilantly  about;  exchanged  commonplace  re- 
marks with  one  and  another ;  learned  at  the 
door  of  the  coffee-room  that  the  rescued  man 
was  rapidly  reviving;  saw  Mrs.  Jameson  com- 
mune a  moment  with  Capt.  McArthur ;  and  the 
latter,  who  knew  the  house  well,  summon  Mr. 
Mason,  and  bid  that  unbidden  guest  follow 
him  up-stairs ;  saw  —  and  drew  his  collateral 
conclusions  from  this  also  —  the  unbidden 
guest  clasp,  with  a  sort  of  sacred  fervor,  the 
slim  hand  which  Miss  Anderson  impulsively 
extended  to  him  as  he  passed  her ;  and  finally 


IS  THAT  ALLt 


199 


sauntered  away  in  the  direction  of  the  window- 
seat. 

"This  is  a  rather  tragic  ending  to  a  gay 
evening,  Mrs.  Drown,"  he  said. 

She  looked  up,  a  little  startled  by  his  voice, 
but  with  eyes  that  defended  themselves  by 
two-fold  watchfulness  from  the  scrutiny  of  his 
own. 

"How  tragic?"  she  said.  "It  might  have 
been  much  worse.  The  gentleman  is  recover- 
ing, they  say." 

"Oh,  yes.  He  is  nearly  right.  A  night's 
rest  will  restore  him  perfectly.  But  it  was  an 
extremely  narrow  escape.  A  stranger,  you 
know,  and  not  as  well  acquainted  with  the 
river  as  the  rest  of  us ;  but  very  athletic  for 
a  clergyman." 

"  Are  not  clergymen  athletic?  "  she  inquired, 
still  looking  fixedly  at  him,  in  a  way  that  made 
him  feel  a  little  as  if  he  had  exchanged  with 
her  the  inquisitive  place  he  had  meant  to  take, 


200  IS   THAT  ALLt 


and  he  answered,  with  a  slightly  awkward 
laugh,  — 

"Why  they  are  supposed  —  aren't  they?  — 
to  be  more  devoted  to  spiritual  than  physical 
culture.  Haven't  you  a  rather  cold  seat  there, 
Mrs.  Drown?  May  I  not  take  you  to  the 
supper-room  for  some  refreshment  ?  " 

For  Mrs.  Pry  or  had  bethought  herself  of 
this  refuge  for  her  agitated  guests,  and,  two  by 
two,  they  were  beginning  to  stray  in  thither, 
and  regale  themselves,  as  appetite  returned, 
after  the  sudden  shock  and  check  to  their 


"No,  I  thank  you,"  replied  the  little  lady  in 
her  distinct  speech,  after  a  moment  of  what 
seemed  meditation,  "I  wish  to  see  Madam 
Pryor." 

So  Aspinwall  offered  her  his  arm  again,  and 
she  rose  and  took  it,  unwillingly,  he  perceived, 
and  with  a  little  touch  of  dislike. 

But   Augusta   was   not    immediately   to    be 


IS  THAT  ALLt  2Ql 


found ;  and,  since  the  house  was  not  all  open 
for  this  unseasonable  fete,  their  field  of  research 
•was  limited.  In  truth,  the  mistress  of  the  man- 
sion was  just  at  that  moment  consulting  with 
Mrs.  Jameson,  in  the  rather  remote  kitchen, 
where  that  busy  officer  was  making  arrange- 
ments to  have  dried,  around  the  roasting  fire, 
the  dripping  garments  of  Mr.  "VVarburton. 

Mrs.  Pry  or  had  warned  Miss  Rae  that,  if 
dancing  were  continued  late,  she  must  herself 
leave  before  the  party  broke  up;  since  she 
must,  at  all  events,  be  back  in  the  city  before 
midnight.  But,  in  the  excitement  of  the  late 

o 

adventure,  time  had  passed  unnoted,  and  it 
was  already  past  eleven ;  and  a  sudden  sharp 
anxiety,  about  home  and  her  husband,  had 
seized  Augusta's  usually  reasonable  mind,  in 
the  reaction  from  her  recent  fright. 

"I  must  go,"  she  said  to  her  faithful  coadju- 
tor, "but  whom  shall  I  leave  with  you?  For, 
of  course,  the  gentleman  must  remain  over- 


202  IS  THAT  ALLt 

night,  and  you  cannot  do  everything.  Dr. 
"VVitherspoon  says  there  may  be  a  little  danger 
of  fever,  although  he  thinks  not.  Oh,  why 
can't  those  thoughtless  young  people  have  the 
•wit  to  go  home  ?  " 

w  'Cause  they  never  think  of  nothing  !  If  I 
was  you,  Mis.  Pryor,  I'd  tell  'em  to  go." 

"  Oh,  no  I  They  are  Miss  Rae's  guests,  even 
more  than  mine,  and  I  cannot  disperse  them." 

"  /  could  !  But  I  guess  Jameson  and  me  can 
manage  for  the  night.  You'd  ought  to  go, 
any  way  !  "  —  Here  a  moist  pocket-book  fell 
from  the  coat  which  Mrs.  Jameson  was  hand- 
ling, half  the  contents  of  it  slipped  out,  and 
she  stooped  her  stout  person  with  a  little  grunt 
to  gather  them  up.  —  "  Why,  good  land,  Mis. 
Pryor!"  she  exclaimed  the  next  instant,  "he's 
got  a  picter  of  that  woman  that's  a-staying 
with  you ! " 

Augusta  held  out  her  hand  mechanically,  and 
received  the  carte  which  Mrs.  Anderson  had 


IS  THAT  ALL? 


BO  imperfect  an  opportunity  to  examine  three 
months  before. 

"  Impossible  !  I  know  they  have  never  met ; 
but  what  a  likeness  !  "  Then  she  too  turned 
the  card  over,  and  saw  the  London  mark. 
She  remembered  her  profound  ignorance  of  her 
guest's  antecedents,  and  a  swift  though  vague 
suspicion  of  having  been  shamefully  imposed 
upon  sent  the  angry  blood  into  her  face.  "It 
is  a  remarkable  likeness,"  she  repeated,  and 
turned  to  seek  her  guests  again  with  her 
grandest  step,  and  a  head  held  higher  than 
usual,  while  Mrs.  Jameson  remained  behind, 
sagaciously  shaking  her  own  over  Mr.  Warbur- 
ton's  wet  garments. 

Augusta  saw  at  least,  when  she  regained  the 
hall,  that  she  had  underrated  the  breeding  and 
commonsense  of  the  party.  All  were  prepar- 
ing to  go  away.  Wraps  were  being  assumed, 
hats  adjusted.  Some  were  already  waiting  to 
make  their  adieux.  In  the  very  focus  of  light 


204  IS  THAT 


and  motion,  opposite  the  open  doors  of  the 
still  brilliant  dining-room,  our  lofty  lady 
encountered  Mr.  Aspiuwall  and  Mrs.  Drown, 
and  the  latter  promptly  accosted  her. 

"I  have  been  seeking  you,  madam;  I  know 
you  are  now  anxious  to  return  to  your  invalid 
husband." 

"Pray  do  not  make  yourself  uneasy  about 
that." 

"Ah,  but  I  know,"  she  persisted  steadily, 
the  artificial  timidity  of  her  manner  vanishing 
at  once  the  moment  the  other's  became  really 
formidable.  "  He  has  been  alone  a  long  while. 
But  you  will  wish  to  leave  some  one  here  to 
see  that  all  is  done  for  the  gentleman  in  there, 
and  I  will  remain." 

"I  see  no  propriety  in  such  an  arrange- 
ment." 

"  There  is  the  utmost  propriety,"  was  the 
defiant  retort,  w  for  the  man  is  my  husband  !  " 

Her  speech  was  penetrating,  as  we   know, 


IS  THAT  ALLf  2O$ 


and  every  one  heard.  Augusta  thought  she 
perceived,  and  it  redoubled  her  anger,  that  the 
revelation  had  been  deliberately  planned  with 
a  view  to  publicity  and  dramatic  effect.  There 
was  now  no  avoiding  a  scene. 

"How  am  I  to  credit  you,"  she  said  very 
haughtily,  "after  all  your  deception?  You  are 
neither  of  you,  it  appears,  what  you  pretend 
to  be." 

w  If  you  have  any  doubt,"  was  the  firm 
answer,  "  come  with  me  into  that  room  where 
he  is.  But  you  had  much  better  leave  us 
alone." 

Mrs.  Pryor  hesitated  an  instant,  then  handed 
her  late  guest,  contemptuously  enough,  the 
carte  de  visile  which  she  had  retained.  "  You 
can  restore  him  that  if  you  like.  I  suppose  it 
proves  that  there  is  some  sort  of  connection 
between  you." 

"  Did  he  have  that  about  him  ?  "  inquired  the 


206  IS  THAT  ALLf 


other,  with  the  first  shade  of  softness  in  her 
voice. 

Then  Mr.  Mason  came  near.  "  Allow  me  to 
urge  you  to  leave  them,  Mrs.  Pry  or,"  he  said; 
w  I  know  a  little  about  this  strange  story,  and 
I  have  been  waiting  the  opportunity  to  give 
you  a  warning.  It  is  bad  enough,  perhaps,  but 
it  might  have  been  worse." 

The  doubly  astonished  guests  had  still  suffi- 
cient tact  to  make  their  farewells  very  short. 

"We  will  all  go,  Isabel,"  said  Mrs.  Pry  or, 
too  overstrained  to  be  other  than  stern  and 
towering  even  to  her  favorite.  "I  am  far  too 
late  already.  Come  to  me  in  the  morning." 

"Will  it  be  believed,  however,  that  there 
were  four  young  people  present  who  were 
egotistical  enough  to  retain  a  consciousness 
of  their  own  concerns  through  all  the  accumu- 
lated excitements  of  the  evening? 

"  What  an  evening  !  "  sighed  Isabel  to  Capt. 
Harry,  casting  one  longing  look  behind,  as 


IS  THAT  ALL?  207 


they  passed  the  door  of  the  dining-room. 
w  Those  lovely  arrangements  of  Col.  Pryor's 
were  almost  thrown  away  ! '' 

w  Not  at  all ! "  was  the  emphatic  response. 
w  The  room  was  beautified  for  just  us  two,  and 
none  too  fine,  either ! " 

n  What  an  evening ! "  murmured  Charles 
Mason  to  his  companion,  as  they  paused  a 
moment  on  the  verandah  and  looked  up  the 
river.  "Was  I  very  cross  to  you,  up  yonder, 
Cousin  Lily?" 

"Tolerably,  Cousin  Charley;  but  how  Col. 
Pryor's  old  dress-coat  did  become  you !  I 
never  saw  you  look  so  well  in  my  life !  Oh, 
mamma,  mamma  !  what  will  you  say  now?" 


CHAP.    XL 

CONFUSION. 

'"T'MIE  rapid  ride  back  to  town  seemed  pain- 
•*•  fully  slow  to  Augusta  Pryor,  for  her 
thoughts  were  in  a  whirl.  If  they  turned  back 
to  what  she  had  left,  resentment,  a  mingled 
scorn  and  distrust  of  the  late  inmate  of  her 
house,  and  the  keen  sense  of  an  insulting 
mystery  increased  every  instant.  If  home- 
ward, the  apprehension  returned  that  Alfred 
had  somehow  suffered  from  her  protracted 
absence,  mingled  with  a  new  alarm  at  the 
shock  her  story  would  give  him,  and  the 
slightest  possible  bitterness  when  she  reflected 
how  completely  that  artful  little no  suit- 
able substantive  occurred  —  had  seemed  of  late 
to  captivate  his  difficult  fancy.  She  hardly 
waited  for  the  horses  to  be  checked  at  her  own 

208 


IS   THAT  ALL? 


209 


door  before  she  sprang  out,  unaided,  ran  up 
the  long  steps,  and  pulled  the  bell-handle  more 
violently  than  she  knew. 

The  answer  was  not  immediate,  and  she 
sharply  pulled  again.  Then  slow  steps  were 
audible  in  the  hall,  there  was  fumbling  at  the 
lock,  that  lasted  an  exasperating  while,  and 
just  in  time,  she  thought,  to  save  her  from 
distraction,  the  door  was  opened,  and  Augusta 
beheld  a  strange  figure  with  disordered  hair, 
blinking  eyes  that  betrayed  the  recent  nap, 
and  the  most  "  hygienic  "  of  winter  travelling 
costumes.  In  short,  it  was  her  friend  Mrs. 
Wyllys. 

"Laura!" 

KOh,  you  have  come  at  last!  I  certainly 
thought  you  never  would.  Are  you  often  out 
so  late  ?  " 

w  Often  ?     Never  1     When    did   you  come  ? 
Have  you  been  taken  care  of?    Do  you  know 
how  Alfred  is?" 
14 


210  IS  THAT  ALL? 

"I  came  just  when  I  said  I  should  in  the 
telegram,  my  dear  !  " 

"  There  has  been  no  telegram." 

"Oh,  but  indeed  I  sent  one.  Or,  stay!  — 
There  was  so  much  to  be  done  on  that  last 
morning !  —  notes  and  despatches  and  reports 
of  proceedings  to  be  sent  off! — Such  a  delight- 
ful and  successful  Convention  as  we  have  had, 
my  dear  !  —  but  I  must  tell  you  of  that  another 
time.  It  is  just  possible —  True  enough! 
Here  is  the  message  I  wrote  in  my  bag,  this 
moment.  It  was  never  sent !  Well,  at  all 
events  I  came  at  half-past  nine,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  nobody  about  whatever,  but  one 
nice,  frightened  little  maid.  I  really  am  afraid 
there's  something  wrong  among  your  servants, 
my  love  !  "  (Mrs.  Pryor  silently  decreed  the 
decapitation  of  Grant.)  "I  told  the  girl  that  I 
was  famished,  and  she  did  the  best  she  could 
for  me,  I  dare  say,  but  of  course  it  was  rather 
cold."  (Mental  decapitation  of  the  cook.) 


IS   THAT  ALL?  211 


"And  then  I  inquired  for  Col.  Pryor,  and  found 
that  the  man  who  usually  comes  in  from  out- 
side to  attend  him  in  the  evening,  had  not  come 
at  all." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  cried  Augusta,  turning 
pale.  "Then  he  is  up  yet!  Excuse  me, 
Laura,  I  must  go  —  " 

"Don't  be  in  such  haste  !  I  don't  know  what 
you  call  up,  but  I  assure  you  he  is  all  right. 
I  said  to  the  girl,  *  Col.  Pryor  and  I  are  very 
old  friends,  and  I  will  go  right  up  to  his  room 
myself,  and  sit  with  him  until  Mrs.  Pryor 
returns.' " 

Augusta's  heart  died  within  her. 

"  So  I  did  ;  and  he  was  surprised  to  see  me, 
of  course,  but  I  didn't  let  him  know  how 
frightfully  ill  I  thought  he  was  looking,  and 
I  sat  down  and  told  him  all  about  the  Conven- 
tion —  " 

("  Then  he  is  dead  already,"  thought  Augusta 
in  her  despair.) 


212  IS   THAT  ALLf 


"And  even  read  him  some  of  the  reports, 
which  I  had  in  my  bag.  He  seemed  much 
interested." 

(w  Polite  to  his  murderess  !  I  can  believe 
it.") 

"And  I  stayed  with  him,  I  should  think,  an 
hour  and  a  half.  And  then  he  thanked  me, 
and  told  me  he  saw  I  was  fatigued,  and  begged 
me  to  take  a  little  rest,  adding  that  he  would 
not  in  the  least  mind  being  alone,  and  that  you 
were  sure  to  come  soon.  So  you  see  there  is 
no  need  for  you  to  hasten." 

"Indeed  I  must." 

"  Stay,  my  dear,  —  one  or  two  things  I  feel 
J  ought  to  say  to  you.  In  the  first  place  —  I 
say  it  outright,  because  I  know  you  are  not  a 
nervous,  weak-minded  woman,  to  be  crazed  by 
alarm  —  I  find  your  husband  a  great  deal  worse 
than  I  had  imagined.  I  don't  refer  to  the 
paralysis,  or  whatever  it  is,  but  to  his  general 
health.  He  is  thinner,  more  shattered.  And 


15  THAT  ALL?  213 

I  want  to  beseech  you,  Augusta,  to  lay  aside 
your  prejudices  for  his  sake,  and  consult  a  doc- 
tor ;  or,  at  least,  a  person  who  has  performed 
some  perfectly  startling  cures  among  us  lately. 
It  would  be  peculiarly  convenient  in  the  dear 
Colonel's  case,  because  you  only  need  send  a 
lock  of  the  patient's  hair  —  " 

Augusta's  much-tried  temper  gave  way.  wjSTo 
earthly  consideration,  Laura,  as  you  know, 
would  ever  induce  either  Alfred  or  me  to  con- 
sult a  quack.  I  consider  you  most  unfor- 
tunately credulous.  We  are  likely  to  have 
trouble  enough  with  that  theatrical  woman 
you  sent  us  —  " 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  that  is  it !  That's  the  other 
subject,  on  which  you  must  allow  me,  as  an  old 
and  true  friend,  to  say  one  word.  I  spoke  of 
Mrs.  Drown,  of  course,  to  Col.  Alfred  to-night, 
and  his  manner  betrayed  at  once  how  deeply 
he  has  become  interested  in  her.  We  all  know 


214  Is  THAT  ALLt 

his  little  foible  of  old,  —  that  ready  suscepti- 
bility —  " 

"  Silence  !  "  interrupted  Augusta,  with  her 
blue  eyes  ablaze.  '"  Not  another  word  of  that 
kind,  Laura  Wyllys !  Your  room  shall  be 
ready  as  soon  as  possible.  I'm  sorry  you 
should  have  such  an  inhospitable  reception,  but 
I  must  leave  vou  now.  Good-nkrht !  " 

»-  O 

She  went  up  the  great  staircase  on  the  wings 
of  her  manifold  wrath.  The  fire  which  should 
have  warmed  the  hall  was  evidently  very  low. 
The  door  was  ajar  from  the  rear  of  the  upper 
hall  into  the  long  western  chamber ;  the  tem- 
perature of  that  room,  Augusta  noted  with  fresh 
alarm,  as  she  went  in,  was  many  degrees  lower 
than  usual.  The  invalid  lay  on  his  ordinary 
couch,  muffled  to  the  chin  with  all  the  wraps 
within  his  reach,  and  he  was  very  pale,  but 
summoned  a  faint  smile  with  which  to  greet 
her. 

"Oh,  my  darling!  "  she  cried,  when  she  saw 


IS  THAT  ALL  f  21$ 

him,  "still  there  !  What  have  I  done  to  you? 
How  can  I  ever  forgive  myself  for  my  neglect  ? 
Are  you  dreadfully  exhausted?  " 

"Pm  cold,"  he  said,  feebly,  with  a  little 
shiver,  "and  despicably  weak."  And  he  shut 
his  eyes,  but  opened  them  immediately,  and 
seemed  to  make  a  great  effort  after  his  wonted 
liveliness.  "I'm  tired,"  he  said,  "despite  the 
glorious  results  of  the  Convention  —  " 

w  Oh,  I  ought  not  to  have  left  you  !  I  would 
never  have  allowed  her  in  —  " 

"  But  have  you  had  a  pleasant  evening,  you 
and  —  Mrs.  Drown  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Drown,"  she  said,  constrainedly,  "is 
not  come  back." 

"  You  have  left  her  so  late  ?  What  does  it 
mean?"  This  in  stronger  tones,  and  with  a 
sudden  flush. 

"Do  not  speak  of  her  !  "  she  cried,  impetu- 
ously. "  Neither  of  us  knows  what  she  is  !  I  al- 
most hope  I  may  never  see  her  again.  What  ails 


2l6  IS   THAT  ALL? 

you,  Alfred?"  as  his  color  changed  once  more. 
"  Is  it  that  you  are  suffering  so  much,  or  —  " 
"  Don't  worry  I "  he  whispered,  and  fainted 
away. 

In  the  dismal  winter  morning  twilight  —  for 
the  day  dawned  overcast  —  Mrs.  "Wyllys  was 
wakened  from  a  dream  of  triumphant  oratory 
by  sounds  that  conveyed,  even  to  her  pre- 
occupied mind,  ideas  of  trouble  and  alarm. 

There  was  a  hurry  of  slippered  steps  along 
the  passages,  and  there  were  repeated  openings 
and  closings  of  the  hall-door,  all  the  more 
distinct  from  their  evident  endeavor  to  be  cau- 
tious. 

Mrs.  Wyllys  was  a  great  deal  too  humane  a 
woman  to  cherish  resentment  for  the  sharp 
repulse  which  she  had  sustained  the  evening 
before,  and  she  lay  listening  with  an  indistinct 
purpose  of  getting  up  to  ascertain  what  it  all 
meant,  until  the  sounds  died  away  and  were 


IS  THAT  ALL?  21  / 


succeeded  by  profound  stillness.  Then  her 
thoughts  naturally  returned  to  the  composition 
of  her  first  leader  for  the  reform  journal,  whose 
editorship  she  had  undertaken ;  and  in  the 
midst  of  this  exercise  drowsiness  overcame  her, 
and  she  did  not  wake  again  until  the  light 
announced  a  late  morning  hour,  although  the 
sky  was  gray. 

Something  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  dwelling 
seemed  then  to  remind  her  of  her  passing  anx- 
ieties ;  wherefore  she  rose,  assumed  her  simple 
costume  in  some  haste,  and  descended  to  the 
library. 

Augusta  met  her  there,  wearing  a  plain  dark 
wrapper,  and  looking,  for  Augusta,  very  hag- 
gard. She  had  not  lain  down  for  the  night, 
but  her  face  and  voice  were  singularly  gentle. 

w  Alfred  is  very  ill  this  morning,"  she  said, 
simply.  "He  took  cold  yesterday,  and  has 
high  fever.  The  doctors  have  been  here,  and  I 
can  see  that  they  think  him  in  danger.  I  shall 


218  IS  THAT  ALLf 

not  leave  him  to-day,  of  course"  —  here  the 
lip,  which  was  considered  so  haughty,  trembled 
a  little  —  "  but  I  wanted  to  come  and  beg  your 
pardon,  Laura,  for  my  rudeness  last  night." 
"  Oh,  don't  mention  it !  Only  tell  me  —  " 
w  Yes,  I  will  explain  all  I  can,  and  that  is 
little  enough.  She,  Mrs.  Drown,  has  been  in 
the  house  all  these  weeks,  but  I  have  always 
felt  her  something  of  a  mystery.  I  believed 
her  first  story,  the  same  that  she  told  you,  and 
had  always  a  feeling  that  it  would  be  indelicate 
to  press  her  confidence  about  a  painful  past. 
Alfred  enjoyed  her  reading,  and  he  could  enjoy 
very  little.  Last  night  we  went  up  to  our  seat 
on  the  river.  My  young  friend  Miss  Rae  had 
a  skating-party,  and  I  helped  her  receive  her 
guests  there.  Mrs.  Drown  went  too  —  the  first 
time  that  she  has  gone  into  any  company. 
There  was  a  young  Englishman  there  —  a  cler- 
gyman, who  has  been  spending  the  winter  in 
town,  and  very  much  admired  and  sought  — 


15   THAT  ALLt  219 


really  a  well-mannered  man.  He  was  out  on 
the  ice  with  the  rest,  and  there  was  an  accident. 
He  just  escaped  drowning,  and  was  brought 
into  the  house  half  dead.  Then  Mrs.  Drown, 
as  she  called  herself,  stepped  forward  before 
the  whole  company,  and  claimed  him  for  her 
husband  —  " 

"Heavens  and  earth!  What  did  you  do? 
Did  you  come  away  and  leave  her  there  ?  " 

w  What  else  could  I  do  ?  I  had  been  absent 
far  too  long,  as  the  event  has  proved.  I  know 
no  more  ;  but  I  cannot  think  of  it  now.  I  can- 
not think  of  them.  I  cannot  imagine  whether 
she  will  return  here,  or  when.  Some  time,  I 
suppose,  she  must  do  so,  but  I  feel  as  if  I 
r.t^er  wanted  to  see  her  again.  I  am  glad  you 
are  here,  Laura ;  and  if  you  will  only  stay  in 
this  room  and  receive  whoever  calls  —  " 

"  Of  course  I  will  do  that !     What,  not  a    * 
vvidow  at  all  ?     Pray  don't  blame  me  !  "  added 
Mrs.  Wyllys,  rather  inconsequently. 


220  IS  THAT  ALL? 


But  Augusta  was  too  heavy-hearted  to  per- 
ceive the  joke.  "  Certainly  not !  We  were 
equally  deceived." 

"Persons  in  your  position  and  mine,  my  dear 
Augusta,"  said  Mrs.  Wyllys,  with  an  air  of 
weary  responsibility,  "have  so  many  appeals 

—  such  conflicting  claims  to  adjust — we  have 
the   reputation   of  being   able   and  willing  to 
assist.     I  often  think  it  is  like  the  old  Roman 
patients,  — clients,  I  mean.     Of  course  we  make 
occasional  mistakes." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Pryor,  absently.  "And 
now  you  will  not  mind  my  leaving  you.  I 
will  have  them  bring  your  breakfast  here, 
Laura,  and  I  hope  it  may  be  fit  to  eat." 

"  Oh,  pray  don't  concern  yourself !     An  egg 

—  a  chop  —  anything  !     I  have  important  writ- 
ing which  will  occupy  me  nearly  all  the  morn- 
ing, —  that  is,  if  I  cannot   be    of  use   in   the 
sick-room.     After  all,  you  know,  you  may  be 
unnecessarily    alarmed.     Peter,   my  husband, 


15  THAT  ALLf  221 

nearly  dies  of  his  own  terror  every  time  he 
has  the  slightest  attack.  But  oh,  my  dear,  if 
you  only  would  not  have  the  old  practice  I  " 

Then  Augusta  escaped ;  the  quaint  notion 
occurring  to  her,  even  in  the  midst  of  her 
deadly  anxiety,  that  it  was  almost  disloyal  to 
Alfred  to  let  a  woman  receive  visits  in  his 
library  with  such  opinions,  big  boots,  and  no 
train ! 

So  it  was  Mrs.  Wyllys  who  arose  from  amid 
the  professional  half-sheets  by  which  she  was 
soon  irradiated  at  the  writing-table,  and  told 
the  grave  tidings  of  the  morning  first  to  Isabel 
Rae,  and  then  to  a  score  of  other  callers  who 
came,  impelled  by  a  not  unnatural  excitement 
and  curiosity  about  the  events  of  the  evening 
before. 

The  Pryors  had  lived  exclusively,  even 
among  their  own  kind ;  and  I  fear  it  was  only 
Isabel,  and  a  very  few  more,  who  turned  away 
pierced  by  a  sympathy  for  the  inmates  of  the 


222  IS  THAT  ALL? 


mansion,  which  amounted  to  positive  pain. 
To  the  rest,  alas  !  the  Colonel's  dangerous  ill- 
ness served  but  to  increase  the  intensity  of  the 
situation.  J£nn&£.VW8  banished  from  the  streets 
of  Guildford  that  afternoon,  and  though  snow 
was  falling  fast  before  night,  feet  pattered  and 
tongues  flew  faster. 

Mrs.  Anderson  was  in  a  state  of  unfeigned 
agitation.  She  had  received  the  rush  of  Lily 
to  her  dressing-room  in  the  early  morning  after 
the  Yivei'fete,  and  the  amazing  disclosure  which 
that  clever  maiden  tried  hard  not  to  make 
exultant,  with  an  assumption  of  lofty  incred- 
ulity. 

"I  know  nothing  of  the  woman,"  she  said; 
"Augusta  Pryor  has  always  appeared  to  me 
most  unfortunately  accessible  to  impostors,  but 
I  shall  not  lightly  surrender  my  confidence  in 
Mr.  Warburton." 

"But  if  the  woman  is  the  man's  wife,  mamma, 
they  must  know  something  of  one  another." 


18  THAT  ALLt  223 

"  The  story  is  too  preposterous  !  I  wonder 
that  Augusta  Pryor  should  have  left  them 
together.  I  shall  send  up  at  once  to  inquire 
for  Mr.  "Warburton,  and  offer  to  take  him 
home." 

"But  mamma,  Charles  Mason  — " 

w  Appears  to  have  intruded  into  the  company 
very  strangely." 

w Intruded ,  mamma  ?  Where  would  Mr.  War- 
burton  have  been  but  for  him  ?  " 

Later  in  the  morning,  Mr.  Mason  called. 
He  was  subjected  to  a  somewhat  fitful  cross- 
examination,  whereby  very  few  facts  were 
elicited. 

"  I  was  merely  struck  by  a  rumor,  mentioned 
in  a  letter  from  Dr.  Chasuble,  that  a  young 
English  clergyman,  of  the  same  name,  had  left 
his  parish  rather  abruptly,  and  was  thought  to 
be  now  travelling  in  the  United  States." 

Mrs.  Rose  was  impressed  by  the  name,  as 
the  speaker  had  intended  she  should  be ;  but 


224  IS  THAT  ALL? 

she  made  a  strong  effort  still  to  exercise  her 
judicial  functions. 

"I  fear,  I  fear,"  she  said  rather  foolishly, 
"that  you  have  always  been  too  willing  to 
injure  Mr.  Warburton." 

"  I  saved  the  man's  life,  if  you  call  that  an 
injury.  Perhaps  it  was." 

The  door  opened  and  Mr.  Anderson  entered, 
red-faced,  and  in  a  buoyant  frame  of  mind. 

"How  are  you  Charley?"  he  cried,  in  his 
boisterous  fashion.  "  I  understand  that  you're 
a  hero.  Great  excitement  in  these  parts ! 
Mother's  pet  parson  and  Mrs.  Colonel's  prima 
donna  turn  out  to  have  been  in  league  to 
befool  us  all!  Pretty  good  joke,  isn't  it? 
Whew !  I  swear  I  forgot  that  you're  another. 
Do  you  know,"  he  added,  making  a  clutch  at 
a  more  serious  and  suitable  subject,  "  they  say 
they've  had  three  doctors  to  Col.  Pryor  to-day, 
and  have  telegraphed  for  some  more.  He  ain't 
expected  to  live." 


IS  THAT  ALLt  22$ 


w  Is  it  possible  ?  How  Augusta  Pryor  must 
reproach  herself  for  having  left  him  last 
night ! " 

Just  then  a  note  was  brought  in  for  Mrs. 
Anderson.  It  had  the  tiny  Orchard  Lawn 
stamp  on  the  upper  left-hand  corner  of  the 
sheet,  and  was  written  in  a  curiously  cramped 
little  hand,  as  follows  :  — 


"DEAR  MADAM,  —  We  are  very  much  obliged 
to  you  for  your  kindness,  but  we  propose  to 
remain  here  to-day.  My  husband  has  slept 
well,  and  will  soon  recover  himself  of  his 
accident. 

"I  am,  with  the  most  profound  respect, 

WHORTENSE  WARBURTON." 

Two  notes  were  also  handed  to  Mrs.  Pryor 
that  day,  in  one  of  her  brief  absences  from  the 
sick-room,  one  of  which  was  the  exact  counter- 
part iii  appearance  of  that  received  by  Mrs. 


226  IS  THAT  ALL? 


Anderson,    and    characterized    by    the    same 
admirable  sangfroid.     It  ran  — 

"  DEAR  MADAM, — Such  is  your  kindness,  that 
I  know  you  will  wish  us  to  remain  in  your 
country-house  until  my  husband  is  again  in  his 
accustomed  health.  Should  you  desire  to  know 
more  about  him  and  about  my  past  life,  I  will 
come  and  tell  you  all  my  history  when  you 
will.  Present  my  friendship  to  Col.  Pryor.  I 
remain,  yours  with  gratitude  and  respect, 

"HORTENSE  WARBURTON." 

Of  the  other  missive,  a  fragment  will  suffice  : 

"I  just  wish  to  know,  ma'am,  if  it's  your 
orders  that  I'm  to  supply  these  folks  with  all 
they  want,  and  wait  on  them  by  inches.  The 
young  woman,  she  orders  up  everything  in  the 
house,  and  wine,  and  fires,  and  note-paper 
besides;  I  never  see  folks  make  themselves 


IS   THAT  ALL  f  22/ 


more  to  home.  At  least  she  does.  He  don't 
say  much,  one  way  nor  the  other.  I  think 
maybe  he's  a  little  dizzy  yet  from  his  sousing, 
but  otherwise  as  well  as  ever.  I  give  them 
scalloped  oysters  that  was  left  over,  this  morn- 
ing, and  she  said  —  " 

Here  Augusta  crushed  the  notes  into  the 
pocket  of  her  gown,  and,  sitting  down,  wrote 
to  Mrs.  Jameson  the  briefest  possible  statement 
of  the  Colonel's  sudden  danger,  and  her  own 
preoccupation,  accompanied  by  a  curt  command 
that  the  strange  guests  should  be  supplied  with 
whatever  they  required. 

Then  she  went  back,  high-nerved  and  out- 
wardly calm,  to  her  breathless  watch. 


CHAP.    XII. 

RESOLUTION. 

•  T^OUR  weeks  later  those  deep-seated  western 
•*•  windows  were  uncurtained  for  the  first 
time,  that  a  pair  of  sunken  but  still  brilliant 
eyes  might  have  a  distant  visionary  glimpse  of 
earth  and  sky.  The  landscape  thus  revealed 
was  bright  with  a  moving  promise  of  early 
spring.  The  river  was  full  \  the  fields  beyond 
it,  bare.  Sweet  sunshine,  filtered  through  a 
warm,  blue  haze,  suffused  the  scene. 

Augusta  Pry  or  was  in  her  accustomed  place, 
by  the  alcove,  as  yet.  If  the  countenance 
which  she  adored  had  long  been  delicate,  she 
had  to  own  that  it  looked  more  shadowy  than 
ever  in  the  fuller  daylight,  just  admitted  to  the 
chamber,  but  she  thought  —  infatuated  woman  ! 
—  that  she  had  never  seen  its  expression  more 
228 


75  THAT  ALLt  229 


spirited  and  charming  than  now.  She  held  a 
letter  in  her  hand. 

"So  that,"  said  Alfred,  "is  the  reward  of 
merit,  and  the  patient  absorption  of  medicine, 
which  has  been  promised  and  withheld  so 
long." 

"Yes.  I  really  don't  see  why  you  should 
not  hear  it  now.  And  it  is  so  astoundiugly 
characteristic  ! " 

"  It  will  be  worth  hearing,  then  !  You  know 
I  am  her  sworn  defender." 

"Oh,  her  cleverness  needs  no  defence.  And, 
for  the  rest,  she's  a  riddle,  which  you  look  bright 
enough  this  morning  to  help  me  to  solve.  This 
came,  you  know,  just  after  you  began  to  mend. 
While  you  were  at  the  worst  I  peremptorily 
refused  to  see  her." 

"  I  can  believe  that." 

"Yes,  my  lord,  and  not  on  your  account 
alone,  though  that  was  enough.  Hadn't  she 
lied  to  me?  Well,  then  — 


230  18  THAT  ALL  f 

"  '  OKCTIAPD  LAWN,  Feb.  26.' 
("Think  of  their  staying  there  till  then !") 

"'Mr  DEAR  MADAM  — '" 

"  Stop  a  minute !  How  that  prim  address 
recalls  her!  She  was  apiquante  vision,  I  can 
tell  you,  Madam  Augusta,  to  my  tired  and 
misty  eyes.  Go  on." 

"'It  seems  that  you  will  not  see  me,  although 
I  have  asked  to  be  admitted  to  you  so  many 
times.  I  am  told  that  Col.  Pryor,  who  always 
showed  me  so  much  goodness,  is  yet  danger- 
ously ill,  and  I  am  desolate.  But  I  think  this 
is  not  all  the  reason  why  you  refuse  me.  It 
is  that  you  are  angry  with  me,  and  I  do  not 
know  the  cause.'  (" Isn't  that  cool ?")  'Is  it 
because  I  said  to  you  that  my  husband  is  dead, 
•when  he  was  living?  But  when  I  said  that  1 
thought  never  to  see  him  again,  but  always  to 
gain  my  own  life  by  my  readings'  here  in 
America.  Now  he  is  come  here  also,  and  we 


IS  THAT  ALLt 


shall  go  away  and  live  together,  at  least  for  a 
time.'  ("Business-like.") 

"'Dr.  Price,  the  rector  of  the  parish  where 
my  friend  has  labored  among  the  poor  all 
winter,  does  not  desire  his  services  any  longer, 
and  we  must  remove  from  Guildford.'  ("  You 
see  they  are  a  pair  of  injured  innocents  !")  'I 
would  have  liked  to  see  you  again,  and  the 
good  Colonel,  so  noble  and  generous,  but  I 
can  tell  you  my  story  in  a  letter.  Once  I 
almost  told  it  to  him,  he  was  so  kind.  If  he 
is  not  too  ill  he  will  remember  the  occasion.' 
("There  it  is  you  see,  Alfred!  The  whole 
letter  is  full  of  little  sidelong  yearnings  over 
you,  —  but  I'm  used  to  that  !") 

"'I  was  born  in  England,  but  my  mother 
was  French,  and  my  father  had  played  in 
French  theatres,  and  passed  much  time  in 
that  country.  Both  my  parents  were  on  the 
stage,  and  my  father  desired  me  to  be  an 
uctress  also,  and  trained  my  voice  and  gestures 


232  IS  THAT  ALL  ? 

when  I  was  very  young.  He  thought  I  would 
have  a  great  career,  but  my  mother  did  not 
desire  it.  She  was  of  a  good  family  of  emi- 
grjs,  but  my  father  was  bourgeois.  She  would 
have  me  educated  for  a  governess,  that  I  might 
live  among  ladies  and  gentlemen.  She  thought 
the  theatre  perilous  for  a  young  girl.  I  had  no 
fear,  but  I  wanted  to  be  a  great  actress,  not  a 
little  one,  and  I  wanted  to  be  a  lady  most  of  all. 
!"I  began,  therefore,  by  teaching  French  in 
my  pension,  and  after  that,  still  because  my 
French  was  so  good,  a  rich  lady  engaged  me 
as  governess  to  her  small  children,  and  took 
me  to  her  estates.  There,  when  I  took  the 
children  out  walking  in  the  park,  I  used  to 
meet  Mr.  Warburton,  who  was  staying  in  the 
neighborhood.  He  admired  me,  and  I  thought 
him  the  handsomest  man  I  had  ever  known. 
I  have  met  finer  types  since  then,  —  your  unfor- 
tunate husband,  for  example.'  ("  Did  you  ever 
hear  anything  like  it  ?  Audacious  little  thing  ! ") 


15  THAT  ALL  f  233 

'That  summer  my  mother  died,  and  nry 
father,  whose  fortunes  were  bad,  determined 
to  go  to  Australia,  to  a  theatre  in  Melbourne, 
and  was  very  angry  because  I  would  not  go 
with  him.  He  thought  that  there  I  might  have 
a  great  career,  but  I  thought  that  Mr.  War- 
burton  would  marry  me,  and  make  me  easily  a 
great  lady,  so  I  remained.  By  and  by,  Mr. 
Warburtou  explained  to  me  his  circumstances. 
He  was  to  be  a  clergyman  against  his  will. 
But  if  a  certain  old  lady,  very  rich,  should 
iie,  he  might  do  as  he  liked,  and  need  have 
no  parish.  The  old  lady  was  then  ill,  and  he 
asked  me  to  marry  him  in  secret,  and  when  he 
was  free,  after  her  death,  you  comprehend, 
he  would  disclose  all.  I  consented  to  this, 
and  then  the  old  lady  recovered.'  ("Unreason- 
able of  her,  was  it  not  ?  ") 

"'Mr.  Warburton  received  a  parish  in  a  large 
town,  and  then  he  would  have  me  remove  to 
a  cottage  in  the  vicinity,  where  he  could  come 


234  Is  THAT 


sometimes  and  see  me.  But  my  life  was  triste, 
and  I  soon  became  frightfully  weary  there.  I 
could  see  that  he  very  much  feared  discovery, 
because  it  would  disgrace  him  with  all  pious 
people  ;  and  I  did  not  wish  it  any  more,  for 
what  would  life  have  been  to  me  in  that  dull 
town,  —  in  a  rectory,  par  exemple!  I  knew 
then  that  I  was  more  fit  for  a  career.  I  am  told 
that  in  the  States  of  America  women  are  quite 
free  —  everything  is  easy  for  them  —  and  I  say 
it  will  be  better  for  us  both  if  I  escape. 

"'So  once  when  he  had  brought  me  money,  I 
purchased  a  widow's  costume,  and  took  passage 
for  New  York,  but  left  a  note  saying  that  I 
had  gone  to  my  father  in  Australia.  You 
know  all  that  happened  afterward.  It  was 
you  chiefly,  madam,  I  confess  it,  who  assisted 
me  to  achieve  success.'  ("How  magnani- 
mous !  ")  'I  did  not  regret  my  husband  while 
I  was  in  your  house  ;  '  ("  does  she  mean  to 
credit  me  with  that,  I  wonder,  or  her  adroit 


IS  THAT  ALL?  235 


flirtations  with  you  over  the  Earthly  Para- 
dise?")', 'but  it  alarmed  me,  sometimes,  to 
remember  how  I  was  alone.  Then  came  the 
night  when  I  saw  my  friend  brought  in  half 
dead,  and  laid  down  before  me.  I  said,  for  one 
moment,  I  will  hide  myself,  and  will  not  tell 
even  now ;  but  his  aspect  compelled  me  to 
reveal  the  truth.  I  knew  that  it  was  destiny 
which  had  brought  us  together.  He  told  me, 
when  we  were  alone,  that,  after  I  left  England, 
there  were  whispers  about  him  in  his  parish. 
His  visits  to  me  had  been  observed  by  the 
curious,  and  a  scandal  arose.  Then  he  con- 
fessed our  marriage,  but  was  not  permitted  to 
remain  in  England.  He  came  here  without  a 
thought  of  finding  me,  and  he  also  feels  that 
destiny  has  reunited  us. 

*'It  seems  that  we  cannot  well  remain  here, 
where  my  prospects  are  so  good,  and  we  pro- 
pose to  ourselves  to  go  immediately  into  the 
West.  If,  therefore,  I  may  not  hope  again  to 


236  IS  THAT  ALL? 


see  you,  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  send 
me  my  small  effects  and  the  money  which  is 
now  due  me,  and  which  you  have  so  much 
assisted  me  to  gain.  I  shall  reward  the  person 
who  has  not  served  us  willingly  in  this  place.' 
("She  means  Mrs.  Jameson.  I  trust  she  tried 
it !  ")  Present  once  more  my  compliments  to 
the  good  Colonel,  whose  complete  restoration  I 
desire  with  ardor;  and  receive  yourself  the 
assurance  of  my  respectful  gratitude. 

w *  HORTENSE    W ARBURTON . ' " 

w  Well,"  said  Augusta,  for  Alfred  did  not 
offer  any  immediate  comment  upon  the  letter, 
w  is  not  that  extraordinary  ?  " 

"Quite  so  !  but  frank  and  high-spirited,  and, 
to  my  mind,  considerably  pathetic  as  well." 

r  Now  that  I  do  not  see  !  What  strikes  me 
most  of  all,  is  the  total  absence  of  real  sensi- 
bility. The  letter  is  exactly  like  the  woman, — 
perfectly  clear-headed,  and  almost  uncanny  in 


IS   THAT  ALLt  237 


its  nonchalance,  with  an  occasional  fitful  affecta- 
tion of  sentiment.  Her  place  was  on  the  stage.'" 

"I  did  not  mean  that  it  was  subjectively 
pathetic,  but  merely  that  I  am  moved  by  the 
spectacle  of  a  delicate  and  rarely-gifted  woman, 
in  whom  a  hard  and  vulgar  life  seems  to  have 
killed  the  germs  of  natural  tenderness." 

"The  germs  were  few  and  feeble,  you  may 
depend." 

"Perhaps;  but  after  all,  Augusta,  there  was 
a  singular  magnetism  about  her." 

*  Not  for  women  !  She  repelled  me  from  the 
very  first,  and  I  shall  always  think  the  better 
of  my  blind  instincts  that  she  did  so." 

w  So  vanishes,  at  all  events,  a  rather  uncom- 
mon pair  of  adventurers.  I  wonder  how  Mrs. 
Wyllys  feels  about  her  instincts,  and  Mrs.  An- 
derson about  hers.  This  makes  an  additional 
tie  between  you  and  Mrs.  Rose,  Gus.  dear  !  " 

"  Laura  is  so  addled  by  the  numerous  causes 
she  has  adopted,  that  I  don't  think  individual 


238  18  THAT  ALL? 


fates  make  much  impression  upon  her.  Rose 
Anderson  I  do  feel  for.  'Tis  much  more 
embarrasing  for  her  and  Dr.  Price  than  for 
me,  because  I  never  advertised  my  prottgte  as 
a  saint." 

"  But  I  don't  see  that  theirs  has  been  very 
much  of  a  sinner  !  A  little  weak,  perhaps." 

. "  And    not    entirely    straightforward.      No, 
Alfred,  I  do  not  like  lies  ! " 

But  the  more  charitable  view  of  Mr.  War- 
burton's  character  and  career  was  the  one 
eventually  adopted  by  the  good  rector  of  St. 
Saviour's  himself,  and  with  this  he  endeavored 
to  soothe  the  chagrin  of  his  most  important 
parishioner. 

K  After  mature  deliberation,  and  some  serious 
interviews  with  himself,  I  am  inclined  to  regard 
our  late  friend  merely  as  the  victim  of  an 
exceedingly  artful  and  able  woman."  So  said 
Dr.  Price,  in  his  Johnsonian  English,  and  with 
the  slightest  possible  twinkle  ir>  the  corner  of 


IS  THAT  ALLf  239 


his  eye.  K  It  is  not  inconceivable  to  me,"  he 
added,  "that  the  natural  patrons  and  guardians 
of  this  young  man  should  have  desired  for  him 
a  new  career  of  usefulness,  unhampered  by  the 
associations  of  an  unfortunate  past,  and  that 
they  should  have  endeavored,  by  the  power  of 
their  recommendations,  to  secure  him  the  same  ; 
but  I  am  forced  to  conclude,"  and  here  the 
Doctor  indulged  in  a  gesture  which  he  usually 
reserved  for  the  pulpit,  "that  the  impression 
prevailed  among  them  that  a  slightly  lower 
order  of  morality  and  decorum  might  be  admis- 
sible here  than  could  be  tolerated  under  the 
immediate  effulgence  of  Christian  Civilization  ! " 

It  was  during  the  same  visit  that  Dr.  Price 
informed  Mrs.  Anderson  that  he  had  made 
choice  of  her  admirable  young  relative,  Mr. 
Mason,  as  Mr.  Warburton's  successor. 

Frankly,  but  somewhat  feebly,  the  mother 
remonstrated. 

w  Lily   is   an   only   child,   Dr.  Price !     You 


240  IS   THAT  ALLt 


know  her  expectations.  A  great  deal  too 
young  to  understand  her  own  mind;  yet  so 
wilful  where  she  has  taken  a  fancy  !  " 

"  A  great  deal  too  wilful,  my  dear  madam," 
said  the  Doctor,  shaking  his  head  wisely,  "to 
be  influenced  in  her  little  determinations  by 
prudential  arrangements  of  yours  or  mine." 

Isabel  Rae's  engagement  was  announced  at 
about  this  time,  and  Alfred,  on  the  first  day 
of  his  promotion  to  the  sofa,  insisted  on  her 
coming  up,  that  he  might  felicitate  her  face 
to  face.  She  entered  the  room,  blushing  of 
course,  but  now  that  her  blushes  were  in 
order,  and  no  longer  intensified  by  her  own 
indignation  against  them,  they  were  no  more 
than  brilliantly  becoming. 

He  held  her  white  hand  —  inevitably  —  it 
was  rather  more  substantial  than  his  own  just 
now  —  while  he  praised  the  man  of  her  choice, 
just  as  a  girl  best  likes  to  have  her  lover 
praised ;  and  expressed  his  joy  in  her  present 


IS  THAT  ALL?  24! 


happiness,  and  his  faith  in  her  future,  with  a 
sympathy  so  ardent  and  yet  so  delicate,  that, 
added  to  his  thrice  etherealized  appearance, 
poor  Belle  found  it  quite  overpowering,  and 
was  fain  to  turn  her  head  away. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ? "  he  cried  gayly . 
"Face  the  light  if  you  please,  miss  !  I  thought 
so  !  A  tear  stands  in  your  bright  blue  eye, 
Isabel,  and  it  is  for  me  !  Don't  shed  it,  dear 
girl !  I  never  deserved  it  less.  I'm  going  to 
recover  in  a  hurry,  if  that's  what  you  mean  ! 
Did  you  not  know  that  the  gracious  Faculty 
have  given  me  full  permission  to  get  wholly 
well  as  fast  as  ever  I  like  ?  I  shall  go  abroad 
to  select  your  wedding-present,  my  dear,  and 
return  to  dance  at  the  ceremony.  Now  you 
may  go,  and  order  that  lucky  dog,  McArthur, 
to  report  at  headquarters  for  congratulations." 

The  ensuing  winter  was,  in  fact,  redeemed 
from  dulness  in  Guildford,  by  three  mem- 
orable weddins.  Miss  Eae  was  united  to 


242  IS  THAT  ALL? 


Capt.  McArthur ;  Miss  Anderson  triumphantly 
achieved  that  which,  in  American  society,  cor- 
responds to  marrying  the  curate ;  and  Miss 
Annie  Faxon  —  Miss  Richards  being  providen- 
tially absent  with  an  invalid  friend  in  Cuba — 
bestowed  her  hand  and  a  snug  fortune,  recently 
inherited  from  the  Aunt  Nancy  for  whom  she 
was  named,  on  Mr.  George  Aspinwall. 

All  the  weddings  were  splendid  ;  and  although 
it  is  not  the  custom  in  Guildford  to  publish  the 
caterer's  bills,  an  inventory  of  the  bride's  ward- 
robe, or  a  list  of  her  gifts,  I  may  perhaps  be 
allowed  to  mention,  since  it  is  a  positive  addi- 
tion to  the  art-treasures  of  our  country,  that 
exquisite  little  cabinet  of  Mrs.  McArthur's,  filled 
with  rarest  china,  concerning  which  every  one 
cried,  with  gasps  of  enthusiasm,  that  of  course 
it  could  only  have  been  discovered  at  the  ends 
of  the  earth ;  and  equally,  of  course,  the  con- 
tents could  only  have  been  selected  by  Col. 
Pryor  in  person. 


IS   THAT  ALL? 


243 


The  Colonel  was  present  at  this  wedding, 
although  he  did  not  dance  —  nobody  did  — 
and  then  and  there  he  resumed  his  position  as 
aesthetic  dictator  and  chief  ornament  of  society 
iu  Guildford.  His  war-record  is  almost  for- 
gotten now ;  and  all  except  the  few  who  know 
him  intimately  are  wont  to  imply,  when,  they 
speak  of  him,  just  as  they  always  used,  that 
he  is  a  flatterer  and  a  trifler, —  elegant,  self- 
indulgent,  fastidious,  and  fain&nt,  to  a  degree 
that  well-nigh  passes  patience  in  a  native  Amer- 
ican citizen. 

Is  that  all? 

Yes !  it  is  all  told  —  my  gossiping  little 
story — a  very  meringue  of  a  story,  you  may 
justly  complain ;  unsubstantial  and  flavor- 
less. Not  a  great  situation  or  ideal  type  of 
character,  and  but  one  passably  fine  action  !  I 
confess  it.  The  people  of  Guildford  are  little 
better  or  worse  than  those  of  other  places,  and 


244 


IS  THAT  ALLf 


even  with  them  I  have  not  ventured  far  below 
the  surface. 

Yet  I  am  half-inclined  to  appeal  against  your 
sentence  on  behalf  of  one  person  —  my  own 
favorite  —  and  to  ask  whether  the  strong, 
generous,  loyal  wife,  with  her  infinite  pride 
and  devotion,  and  her  unassailable  faith, — 
whether  Augusta  Pryor,  in  short,  be  not  almost 
worthy  to  be  called  a  heroine  ? 


NO     NAME     (THIRD)     SKRIKS. 

JUSTINA. 


"  The  third  series  of  the  justly  popular  '  No  Name '  novels  has  held  nothing  so 
noteworthy  as  '  Justina.'  There  is  no  clew  to  the  authorship  ;  but  the  writer,  whether 
man  or  woman,  may  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  a  wellnigh  perfect  bit  of 
work  has  been  accomplished,  and  that  though  its  very  simplicity  and  purity  will  be 
against  its  wide  popularity,  that  it  has  its  place  among  the  best  literature,  and  will 
keep  it.  Without  being  in  the  slightest  didactic,  it  holds  a  powerful  moral  lesson  ;  but 
it  is  the  reader  who  discovers  the  moral,  not  the  author  who  obtrudes  it.  There  is  no 
space  here  tor  clot  or  details.  It  can  only  be  repeated  that  'Justina'  is  among  the  very 
best  of  recent  fiction,  and  its  characters  all  worth  knowing."  —  Mrs,  Helen  Campbell, 
in  The  Orange  Chronicle. 

"  After  a  considerable  pause  the  '  No  Name  Series '  takes  the  field  once  more,  and 
with  a  book  which  is  a  beginning  again.  '  Justina  '  is  an  '  epoch-making  book '  in  its 
famous  series.  A  stronger,  finer  story  has  not  been  written  with  an  American  pen 
this  many  a  day. 

"  It  is  a  fine  and  noble  story,  a  new  and  firm  and  skilful  hand  touching  the  old 
notes  of  love  and  longing,  and  awakening  out  of  them  a  fresh  variation  of  the  one  theme 
that  underlies  all  human  life.  The  book  is  extremely  well  written ;  is  a  master's  work, 
whoever  he  is."  —  The  Literary  World. 

"This  charming  story  revives  some  of  the  best  characteristics  of  the  '  No  Name 
Series,'  in  which  there  have  appeared  a  number  of  singularly  fresh  and  delightful 
studies  of  character  and  life.  Justina  herself  is  one  of  those  pure,  high-minded,  and 
attractive  women  who  never  cease  to  interest  in  fiction  as  in  real  life,  and  who  revive 
and  sustain  the  noblest  traditions  of  high  living  in  the  world.  We  venture  the  guess 
that  the  writer  is  a  woman,  and  that  this  is  not  her  first  venture  with  her  pen.  The 
style  has  a  finish  which  comes  only  by  practice,  and  the  management  of  the  stnry  be- 
trays the  experienced  hand.  The  motive,  although  very  strongly  developed,  is  never 
suffered  to  overlade  the  movement  of  the  narrative  or  to  obscure  tlie  charm  of  the 
story.  The  writer's  purpose  is  to  show  the  absolute  sanctity  of  the  marriage  tie,  as 
against  all  theories  of  free  or  loose  divorce.  To  accomplish  this  purpose  she  has 
taken  a  very  effective  line  of  inventing  a  series  of  circumstances  which  would  justify,  if 
anything  could,  the  severance  of  the  marriage  tie.  Having  done  this,  she  offsets 
against  all  the  pleas  and  claims  of  individual  happiness  the  sure  moral  instinct  of  a 
noble  woman,  who  refuses  to  confuse  for  a  single  moment  the  question  by  allowing 
the  passionate  pleadings  of  another,  or  the  pleadings  of  her  own  heart,  to  overbear 
her  sense  of  right  and  wrong.  The  story  is  very  effectively  told,  with  episodes  of 
genuine  power  and  real  beauty,  and  can  hardly  fail  to  make  clear  a  vital  issue  often 
beclouded."  —  Christian  Union. 

One  Volume     i6mo.    Brown  Cloth.     Price,  $1.00. 


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MESSRS.   ROBERTS   BROTHERS'    PUBLICATIONS. 

NO    NAME  (THIRD)    SERIES. 

LITTLE    SISTER. 


"Tin's  last  volume  of  the  new  'No  Name'  series  is  a  tender  little  story.  It 
stands  by  itself  in  the  series.  So  far  as  we  remember,  there  is  not,  in  the  whole  long 
Hst  of  the  very  unequal  and  much-named  '  No  Names,'  another  of  its  order.  It  is  a 
bit  of  faithful  and  delicate  genre  work,  —  a  sort  of  work  too  much  neglected  by  our 
story-wrights.  Their  neglect  of  it  is  perhaps  only  the  natural  result  of  the  law  <'l 
supply  and  demand ;  so  large  a  proportion  of  readers  belong  to  the  class  of  that  excel- 
lent old  lady  who,  knowing  no  better  health-test  than  her  appetite  for  sensational 
narratives,  remarked  sadly  one  day  that  she  was  sure  she  must  be  ill,  for  she  had  lost 
all  her  relish  for  the  murders  in  the  newspapers.  By  readers  of  this  class  stories  like 
'Little  Sister'  are  thrown  away,  —  dismissed  as  dull,  with  a  hasty  contempt  which 
would  be  much  surprised,  no  doubt,  at  being  told  that  the  very  quality  for  which  it 
had  rejected  books  was  their  one  excellence,  namely,  every-dayness,  simplicity, 
slenderness  of  plot.  There  is  also  in  •  Little  Sister'  an  undertone  of  clear-hearted 
spirituality.  This,  without  taking  shape  in  technical  religious  phrase,  makes  itself 
felt  in  every  emergency  and  crisis  through  which  the  characters  are  carried,  and  is  far 
more  likely  to  cast  its  weight  on  the  right  side  of  balances  for  the  very  silence  and 
reserve  in  which  its  presence  is  wrapped."  —  "fi.  ff."  in  The  Critic. 

"  '  Little  Sister  '  is  a  recerlt  addition  to  that  deservedly  popular  series  whose  name 
is '  No  Name.'  It  is  a  bright,  sweet,  simple  story.  There  is  no  villain  and  no  adven- 
turess. The  plot  is  just  such  a  one  as  is  woven  daily  by  the  incidents,  sorrows,  joys, 
common  to  the  majority  of  lives.  The  unassuming  little  heroine  is  what  every  woman 
should  be,  —  a  silent  power  for  good.  She  illustrates  in  her  quiet  life  the  beauty  of 
unselfishness.  There  are  sparkles  of  bubbling  laughter  and  touches  of  tender  grief, 
and  on  every  page  some  useful  lesson  to  sink  into  the  heart  and  bear  fruit." — The 
Chicago  Tribune. 

"  It  is  not  every  day  that  brings  a  novel  so  wholesome,  so  homely  (in  the  best 
sense  of  the  word),  so  simple,  so  true  to  life,  so  full  of  common  sense,  so  bright,  and  so 
interesting  as  '  Little  Sister.'  There  is  not  a  character  in  it  whom  one  would  not  lile 
to  know ;  and  that  is  the  greatest  compliment,  because  the  scene  is  laid  in  Philadelphia. 
.  .  .  It  is  a  genuinely  '  match-making '  book,  but  withal  the  story  is  so  healthy  that  it 
mi>!.ht  well  prove  infectious.  It  is  the  kind  of  a  novel  that  makes  one  feel  that  life  is 
worth  living."  —  The  Philadelphia  Press. 


One  volume,  16mo,  brown  cloth.    Price,  81. OO. 

Our  publications  are  to  be  had  of  all  booksellers.     When  not 
to  be  found,  send  directly  to  the  publishers, 

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MESSXS.   ROBERTS   BROTHERS'    PUBLICATIONS. 
NO    NAME   (THIRD)    SERIES. 

PRINCESS    AMELIE. 


"  No  man  or  woman  can  read  it  without  being  not  only  interested  and  charmed  by 
its  subtlety  and  beauty,  but  also  purified  and  strengthened  by  the  story  of  a  simple 
life  and  a  pure  love.  As  the  term  is  usually  employed,  it  is  not  a  novel  '  with  a  pur- 
pose,' but  it  effects  the  only  purpose  which  :s  sufficient  to  justify  the  writing  of  any 
novel  —  it  makes  its  reader  better  No  one  can  peruse  its  pages  without  feeling  the 
influence  of  a  sweet,  steadfast,  honest  life  simply  and  brightly  told."  —  The  Continent. 

"  Few  lovelier  tales  than  that  have  been  told  us.  It  is  so  sincere  and  so  pure,  such 
a  contrast  to  the  Ouida  school.  Such  a  book  gives  one  back  one's  faith  in  goodness 
and  truth,  —  in  life  lived  for  duty's  sake."  —  Mrs.  L.  C.  Moulton. 

"  We  have  before  us  the  last  publication,  '  Princess  Amelie,''  and  have  no  hesitation 
hi  proclaiming  it  an  ingenious,  brilliant,  and  original  story.  The  reader  who  has 
gone  through  with  Miss  Yonge's  beautiful  story  called  '  Stray  Pearls,'  will  find  in 
'  Princess  Atne'lie '  a  continuation  of  the  interest  in  the  stately  and  splendid  old  French 
society  of  the  pre-revolutionary  period.  .  .  .  The  writer  has  with  infinite  cleverness 
concealed  his  or  her  great  coup  from  the  reader  ;  and  we  leave  the  reader  to  find  it 
out.  The  story  is  in  every  way  a  delightful  one ;  a  book  that  young  girls  may  read 
with  pleasure,  and  with  profit.  This  time  the  '  No  Name  Series  *  has  scored  a  suc- 
cess." —  Toronto  Mail. 

"  '  Princess  Amdlie '  is  the  best  volume  yet  published  in  the  third  '  No  Name ' 
series.  It  is  called  a  fragment  of  autobiography,  and  the  royal  love-story  is  charm- 
ingly told.  The  simple  style,  and  the  quaint  turn  of  the  plot,  give  the  story  an 
added  grace,  and  one  lays  it  down  with  a  sigh  that  it  should  end  so  soon."  — 


One  Volume.     IGmo.    Brown  Cloth.    Price,  81.00. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price, 
by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


NO    NAME    (THIRD)    SERIES. 


A     SUPERIOR    WOMAN. 


One  volume.     i6mo.     Cloth.     Price,  $1.00. 


"  In  these  days  of  morbid  fiction,  when  to  describe  what  may  be  called  path- 
ological eccentricities  in  human  nature  seems  to  be  the  ambition  of  each  new 
novelist,  it  is  as  unexpected  as  it  is  refreshing  to  come  upon  a  story  as  fresh  and 
wholesome  and  true  to  life  as  is  '  A  Superior  Woman.'  There  is  a  happy  fidelity 
to  nature  in  the  character-painting.  Even  the  lighter  sketches,  such  as  Mrs. 
Cleve,  Charley  and  Walter  Thorn,  and  the  Hemingway  sisterhood,  show  the 
same  sense  of  proportion  and  precision  of  stroke  which  makes  Rose  —  dear 
Rosamond  Leigh,  the  heroine  —  as  real  to  us  and  as  vitally  fresh  and  interesting 
as  any  girl  we  know  out  of  a  book." 

"  '  A  Superior  Woman  '  is  a  pleasant  and  delicate  story  of  an  earnest  young 
girl  whose  young  life  is  led  by  her  own  pure  and  sweet  svmpathies,  her  loyal 
friendships,  and  her  most  practical  good  sense.  It  is  a  book  that  interests  deeply, 
but  never  thrills  its  readers ;  because  it  deals  wholly  with  the  interests  of  to-day, 
and  to-day  has  but  few  tragedies,  and  but  few  comedies  that  are  in  any  sense  too 
strange  to  be  believed.  It  is  a  book  of  helpfulness  for  such  young  women  as 
desire  to  make  the  most  of  the  domestic  materials  at  hand,  and  also  for  such  young 
men  as  are  evolving  prospective  wives  and  toiling  for  prospective  firesides  of  their 
own.  In  fact,  it  is  a  treasure  for  all  those  who  are  in  search  of  the  'superior 
woman.'  The  novel  is  one  of  the  '  No  Name  '  series,  and  these  books  are  never 
inferior  in  literary  quality." 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
price,  by  the  Publishers, 

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BOSTON. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 

No  NAME  (THIRD)  SERIES. 

HER    CRIME 


"  The  third  series  of  '  No  Name '  novels  begins  with  '  Her  Crime,'  a  story  which 
in  its  opening  chapters  seems  likely  to  be  commonplace,  but  which  grows  more  and 
more  powerful  as  it  goes  on,  developing  a  very  remarkable  character  in  its  heroine, 
and  a  plot  of  extraordinary  intricacy,  considering  the  limited  size  of  the  book.  The 
story  is  told  by  the  heroine's  friend,  a  simple,  bright  little  woman,  whose  life  is  well- 
nigh  ruined  by  the  heroine's  jealousy  and  unscrjpulousness,  but  who  loves  her  to  the 
last.  .  .  .  But  it  is  Florence  Homer  alone  who  makes  the  story,  and  she  will  live  in 
the  reader's  memory  for  some  time,  a  beautiful,  unscrupulous  woman,  loving  as  well 
us  a  woman  without  a  conscience  can  love,  and  biigl.ti.ig  every  life  that  touches  her 
own."  —  Sunday  Budget. 

"A  wonderfully  dramatic  book  is  the  new  '  No  Nairt*  story,  '  Her  Crime,'  with 
which  the  publishers  begin  the  third  series  of  that  name.  The  plot  is  altogether  out 
of  the  common,  and  readers  who  thirst  for  a  sensation  have  it  here.  We  do  not  pro- 
pose to  destroy  the  charm  of  the  story  by  telling  its  secret  in  advance,  but  can  only 
commend  it  as  one  of  the  best  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  cripnal  works  in  the  long 
list  of  '  No  Names'  which  have  yet  seen  the  light."  — Boston  Transcript. 

"  The  latest  issue  in  the  '  No  Name '  series  is  a  brightly  written  story  of  New 
York  life,  with  little  glimpses  of  the  South  and  West.  The  heroii.e,  Florence,  a  sin- 
gularly beautiful  and  fascinating  woman,  jealous,  passionate  under  her  calmness,  and 
jtbsorbing  weaker  natures,  whether  men  or  women,  is  a  moving  and  powerful  figure. 
The  failure  of  '  her  crime,'  which  has  shattered  her  husband,  to  urpair  in  the  least 
her  splendid  charm,  makes  a  striking  ending,  where  an  ordinary  writer  would  have 
given  a  merely  melodramatic  one.  The  '  local  color  '  seems  to  be  faithful.  An  air  of 
propriety  and  high  breeding  without  a  particle  of  priggishness  pervades  the  whole 
novel,  which  is  full  of  brisk  conversation  and  eminently  readable." —  Good  Litera- 
ture. 

"  If  art  in  a  story  is  that  which  carries  the  reader  along  a  rather  bright  narrative, 
interesting  him  in  character  and  incident,  without  allowing  him  to  be  too  conscious  of 
the  thickening  mystery  that  unfolds  like  a  cloudburst  at  the  climax  of  interest,  then 
there  is  a  high  order  of  art  in  this  story."  —  Inter-Ocean. 


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price,  by  the  publishers, 

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JlfESSRS.   ROBERTS   BROTHERS'    PUBLICATIONS. 
NO    NAME   (THIRD)    SERIES. 

BARRINGTON'S  FATE. 


" '  Harrington's  Fate '  is  a  novel  of  considerable  power.  It  is  re- 
markably coherent ;  its  character-drawing  is  artistic  ;  its  conversations 
are  bright  and  natural ;  its  plot  is  a  good  one.  It  is  a  novel  sure  to 
make  its  mark."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

" '  Harrington's  Fate,'  the  last  issue  in  the  '  No  Name '  series,  bears 
the  marks  of  a  practised  hand,  and  is  a  book  that  no  novel  reader,  once 
having  begun,  will  feel  like  laying  aside  until  the  last  page  is  turned. 
It  is  a  love  story,  pure  and  simple.  The  incidents  are  skilfully 
handled,  and  one  or  two  of  the  characters  are  drawn  with  remarkable 
cleverness.  A  well-known  American  author —  a  lacy  —  who  read  the 
works  in  sheets,  says  of  it  in  a  private  letter  :  '  The  heroine  is  a  girl 
after  my  own  heart,  she  is  so  purely  feminine.  Her  very  mistakes  are 
but  the  excesses  of  her  good  qualities,  her  self-devotion,  and  her  tender- 
ness for  other  people.  And  she  knows  how  to  love  as  not  one  woman 
in  a  hundred  does,  in  a  novel  or  out  of  it.  Indeed,  the  special  grace 
of  this  book  is  that  it  is  just  a  love  story  with  no  tractarian  purpose. 
It  is  good  to  get  acquainted  with  such  a  charming  specimen  of  girl- 
hood as  Katherine,  and  no  less  with  a  man  who  knows  his  own  mind 
as  well  as  Harrington  knows  his  from  the  beginning.  Mrs.  Wilbra- 
ham  is  an  absolutely  new  character  in  fiction  ;  something  to  be  grateful 
for  in  these  days.'  The  author  has  not  been  guessed  at,  so  far  as  we 
have  seen ;  but  that  it  is  by  a  woman  is  certain,  and  if  we  are  not 
mistaken,  by  a  woman  who  holds  to-day  a  distinguished  place  in  the 
English  world  of  letters." —  Transcript. 

'"  Harrington's  Fate*  is  the  latest  and  best  of  all  the  '  No  Name' 
series.  It  is  not  deep,  but  immensely  entertaining  and  brilliant,  as  a 
story  should  be.  The  characters  are  lovable,  refined,  and  charmingly 
natural.  One  meets  them  like  acquaintances.  The  lover  is  exactly 
the  kind  of  a  lover  that  a  woman  thoroughly  appreciates.  .  .  .  Men 
like  Harrington,  determined,  persistent,  and  not  afraid  to  let  the  world 
know  that  they  are  in  love,  are  adored  by  women.  .  .  .  We  recom- 
mend this  bright,  clever  story  to  readers  in  this  column,  not  as  a  book 
notice,  but  with  a  genuine  feeling  of  pleasure  that  there  is  such  a 
pretty  new  story  to  enjoy  in  these  winter  evenings." — Hartford  Times, 
com  mun  i cation . 


One  volume.     lOmo.    Brown  cloth.    Price,  SI. 00. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


MESSRS.   ROBERTS   BROTHERS'    PUBLICATIONS. 
NO    NAME   (THIRD)    SERIES. 

A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  PHILISTINES 


"  There  is  nothing  like  a  well-written  novel  to  give  the  reader  a  true  insight  of  hu- 
tnan  life  in  all  its  phases,  its  society,  aims,  and  aspirations,  and  of  the  scenes  and  scen- 
ery in  which  it  moves.  The  '  No  Name '  novels  dp  this.  They  are  all  blight  and 
truthful,  and  of  a  refined  order ;  they  are  so  good  it  is  singular  that  the  publishers, 
Roberts  Brothers,  of  Boston,  are  able  to  sell  them  at  the  cheap  price  of  one  dollar  a 
volume.  The  binding  is  tasteful,  and  the  books  are  convenient  to  handle,  just  the 
right  size  to  tuck  away  in  a  satchel,  for  reading  during  a  journey,  or  for  the  summer 
holidays.  While  one  is  entertained  by  these  charming  little  stories,  there  is  also  a 
satisfactory  feeling  that  time  is  not  wasted  in  their  perusal,  but  much  profit  gained. 
They  keep  one  abreast  with  the  times  in  many  social  directions,  and,  in  a  pleasurable 
way.  they  are  adapted  to  give  ladies  a  great  deal  of  the  general  information  of  the  day, 
in  which  many  are  sadly  lacking.  The  '  No  Name  Series  '  is  better  and  better  ihe  older 
it  grows.  The  Third  Series  includes  some  of  the  best.  '  Harrington's  Fate '  is  iollowed 
by  '  A  Daughter  of  the  Philistines.'  and  it  is  good  from  beginning  to  end.  .  .  .  The 
book  is  brimming  with  little  bits  of  wisdom,  and  genuine  worldly  knowledge.  .  .  . 

"  '  A  Daughter  of  the  Philistines'  does  not  claim  to  be  a  society  novel,  but  it  gives 
more  comprehensive  information  of  New  York  society  than  the  books  that  make  that 
subject  a  specialty.  It  also  depicts  faithfully  the  scheiring  stock  operations  of  Wall 
street ;  but  the  ugliest  facts  of  society  and  of  stock  gambling  are  presented  with  a  re- 
fined ta*te  and  a  delicate  humor  that  would  please  the  most  fastidious  reader. "  — 
Hartford  Times. 

"  We  commend  the  story  as  a  picture  cf  the  demoralizing  effect  of  Wall  Street  spec- 
ulation on  domestic  life,  for  its  graphic  portraiture  of  fashionable  life  on  Murray  HiU, 
and  for  the  lesson  it  inculcates  of  the  misfortune  and  disaster  that  follow  in  the  train 
of  those  who  give  themselves  up  to  the  worship  ol  Mammon."  —  Providence  Journal. 

"  '  A  Daughter  of  the  Philistines  '  is  one  of  the  latest  of  the  '  No_Name  Series '  and 
it  is  the  most  interesting  of  the  collection.  Its  literary  superiority  and  originality 
s'rike  one  upon  its  first  page,  and  they  are  continued.  Ihere  is  not  a  dull  page  in  the 
book.''  —  Home  Journal. 

"  If  we  were  to  hazard  a  guess,  it  would  be  that  this  took  is  by  the  author  of  '  The 
House  of  a  Merchant  Prince,'  Mr.  Bishop,  of  New  York.  We  are,  however,  it 
seems,  never  to  know  who  any  of  these  '  No  Name  '  writers  are.  and  so  even  guess- 
ing i-i  unprofitable.  The  story  is  of  New  York  life,  and  its  incidents  lie  chiefly  among 
the  rich  and  fashionable.  The  'Philistines'  in  question  are  what  are  called  the 
noin'eanx  ri'hes  Their  character,  career,  and  end  are  sketched  in  a  way  to  show 
where  and  how  intense worldliness  is  apt  to  bring  up.  The  'Daughter,'  however, 
has  elements  of  character  of  a  better  order,  and  falling  in  love  with  a  superior  man,  is 
by  him  saved  from  the  fate  which  at  first  threatens  her.  The  whole  is  managed  with 
the  *ki!l  of  a  practised  writer,  with  the  insight  of  true  genius,  and  with  an  aim  which 
the  judicious  reader  fully  indorses."  —  Standard,  Chicago. 


One  Volume.     IGmo.    Brown  Cloth.    Gilt  and  Black.    Price,  81.00. 


Our  publications  are  to  be  had  of  all   booksellers,  or  will  be  mailed, 
post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  publishers, 


ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON 


Messrs.   Roberts   Brothers'   Publications. 


NO    NAME    (SECOND)    SERIES. 


BABY  RUE. 

"  One  peculiar  charm  of  the  "  No  Name  "  novels  is  that  they  are  really  light 
reading,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  term  ;  bright  and  clever  stories,  which  are  really 
entertaining,  because  they  are  neither  dull  nor  harrowing  to  the  feelings  of  the 
reader.  This  is  the  kind  of  reading  the  American  people  need  ;  especially  in  the 
summer  season,  as  means  of  relaxation  to  over-taxed  brains,  and  as  helps  to  the 
rest  of  over-worked  bodies.  '  Baby  Rue  '  is  just  a  book  of  this  sort.  It  is  cleverly 
written,  and  deals  with  characters  and  events  always  of  interest  to  American  peo- 
ple, gathered  from  the  military  life  on  the  Western  frontier  forty  years  ago;  and 
it  deals  also  to  some  extent  with  the  "  Indian  Question,'1  —  that  very  large  ques. 
tion  to  which,  in  those  forty  years,  we  have  been  able  to  give  so  very  snail  ait 
answer."  —  Penn  Monthly . 

"  In  turning  over  its  pages,  the  thoughtful  reader  cannot  help  feeling  that  the 
author  had  something  more  than  the  simple  story  in  view.  He  has  given  what 
seems  to  be  a  thoroughly  impartial  view  of  the  Indian  question,  and  showed  the 
natural  result  of  the  faithless  and  treacherous  policy  followed  by  the  government 
in  dealing  with  the  savage  tribes.  He  shows  that  in  warfare  soldiers  and  savages 
are  alike  cruel,  and  that  nobility  of  character  is  not  confined  wholly  to  the  white 
race.  All  in  all,  '  Baby  Rue '  is  a  notable  book,  and  one  that  will  have  more  than 
a  momentary  popularity;  full  of  vivid  descriptive  passages,  strong  in  character 
drawing,  and  touching  with  equal  skill  the  springs  of  pathos  and  humor.  It  will 
be  read  to  be  remembered."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"The  book  is  one  of  great  earnestness  and  beauty,  of  exceeding  interest  and 
undeniable  power.  In  all  fiction  we  recall  no  more  touching  incident  than  the 
friendly  Indian's  brinping,  in  his  folded  blanket,  about  a  square  foot  of  damp, 
sandy  earth,  bearing  the  imprint  of  the  little  lost  child's  foot,  which  proves  her 
to  be  still  alive.  He  must  be,  indeed,  a  hardened  reader  of  fiction  who  can  read 
without  moist  eyes,  how  the  young  officer  stooped  to  kiss  the  footprint  of  his 
Baby  Rue,  and  offered  a  hundred  dollars  to  the  man  who  would  carry  it  intact  to 
the  child's  mother  at  the  fort."  —  The  Critic. 

"  The  novel  of  incident  is  almost  an  unknown  thing  to  the  present  generation 
of  fiction  readers ;  and,  therefore,  it  is  a  positive  relief  to  turn  from  books  which 
are  in  the  main  mere  studies  of  character  clothed  in  epigramatic  dialogue,  to  a 
work  which  recalls  the  days  when  a  story  had  color  and  movement,  and  did  not 
remind  us  of  the  scientist  who  would  "  peep  and  botanize  upon  hismother'sgrave.'' 
Not  that  the  novel  of  the  present  day  has  not  its  merits,  but  because  it  wearies 
with  minute  dissections,  when  we  are  in  the  mood  to  read  a  story  for  itself  alone, 
and  not  for  any  analytical  power  which  an  author  may  display.  Having  these 
ideas  in  mind,  we  have  found  genuine  pleasure  in  reading  '  Baby  Rue,'  the  latest 
addition  to  the  '  No  Name  Series."  .  .  .  The  descriptive  passages  are  done  with 
a  facile  pen,  and  show  that  the  author  is  thoroughly  familiar  with  his  ground,  and 
the  reproduction  of  negro  dialect  and  peculiarities  is  very  happy."  —  Boston 
Courier. 

One  volume.    IGmo.    Green  Cloth.    Price,  $1.00. 


Our  publications  are  to  be  had  of  all  booksellers.     When  not  to  be 
found,  send  directly  to  the  publishers. 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Boston. 


Messrs.   Roberts   Brothers    Publications. 
THE  "NO   NAME"   (SECOND)   SERIES- 

SALVAGE. 

"  On  the  whole,  the  '  No  Name '  books  are  the  most  remarkable  series  of 
novels  ever  published  in  this  country.  All  of  them  are  up  to  the  average  standard 
of  good  stories,  while  some  are  far  above.  It  seems  hardly  fair  to  keep  the  public 
in  ignorance  of  the  authors  for  ever.  Some  of  them  have  been  guessed  ;  but,  really, 
after  one  of  the '  No  Names '  has  come  out  and  had  its  success,  why  should  not  an 
admiring  public  know  who  wrote  it?  'Salvage 'is  one  of  the  best  of  the  series. 
The  character  of  Adela  in  its  development  from  child  to  woman  is  a  very  pure  and 
beautiful  one.  The  scene  of  the  meeting  of  the  little  boy,  Lance,  with  his  un- 
known papa,  is  drawn  with  a  masterly  touch."  —  Cincinnati  Commercial. 

"  We  confess  to  being  very  much  interested  in  this  new  volume  of  '  The  No 
Name  Series.'  We  like  it.  The  plot  is  new  and  refreshingly  so.  The  characters 
are  limned  with  a  free  pen ;  the  situations  are  decidedly  original ;  and,  save  that 
unfortunate  —  fortunate  shipwreck,  and  its  expected  outcome,  are  not  unnatural  or 
improbable.  It  is  written  with  ease,  grace,  and  snap.  The  '  No  Name  Series  ' 
improves ;  give  us  more  of  it.  When  shall  we  know  the  name  of  the  author  ?  We 
speak  our  thanks  now."  —  Press,  Providence. 

"This  story  fully  keeps  up  the  reputation  of  the  series  to  which  it  belongs. 
Its  plot  is  very  simple  and  its  moral  excellent.  It  is  aimed  against  the  false  divorce 
system  which  separates  husband  and  wife  so  easily,  and  the  misconceptions  of 
marriage  which  have  affected  so  many  minds."  —  Christian  Intelligencer. 

"  It  is  wonderfully  well  written,  and  we  predict  for  it  a  popularity  even  greater 
than  that  which  attended  'Mercy  Philbrick'  or  'Kismet.'  The  plot  is  alto- 
gether  original,  the  style  brilliant,  and  the  interest  of  the  story  intense.  It  reads 
like  a  bit  of  real  life." 

"  These  chapters  "  (  describing  the  storm,  shipwreck,  and  rescue  ),  "  which  com- 
prise the  major  portion  of  the  work,  are  written  with  rare  power,  and  possest 
an  absorbing  interest.  It  is  a  sufficient  compliment  to  the  author  of  '  Salvage '  to 
say  that  the  book  is  enough  to  make  one  almost  vow  never  to  go  to  sea.  For 
spirited  and  vivid  portrayal  of  the  horrors  of  shipwreck,  it  is  in  prose  what  Byron's 
description  in  '  Don  Juan '  is  in  poetry,"  says  the  Dial. 

"  There  has  been  pretty  nearly  as  much  guessing  over  the  authorship  of  the 
different  volumes  of  the  '  No  Name '  series  as  there  was  over  the  identity  of  rhe 
author  of  '  Waverley.'  To  repeat  the  story  of  the  success  of  these  novels  would 
be  supererogatory.  The  latest  addition  to  the  series  is  entitled  '  Salvage.'  Who 
is  the  author  ?"  —  Express,  New  York. 

In  one  volume.     16 mo.    Green  cloth.    Price  $1.OO. 


Our  publications  are  to  be  had  of  all  booksellers.    When  not  to 
be  found,  send  directly  to  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 
NO    NAME    (SECOND)    SERIES. 

DON  JOHN. 


"Of  the  many  pleasant  volumes  which  this  successful  series  has  included,  none 
is  more  attractive  than  Don  John.  The  plot  is  ingenious,  something  too  much  so  : 
for  the  hurry  of  desire  to  disentangle  its  thread  leads  the  reader  to  miss  the  charm 
of  the  genuine  modern  idyl  to  which  this  harassing  mystery  seems  alien.  ...  Asa 
last  word  to  the  reader  —  read  Don  John  as  rapidly  as  you  will  for  sake  of  finding 
out  the  book's  secret ;  but  be  sure  to  read  it  again,  for  its  sweetness  must  be  drawn 
out  slowly  as  a  bee  takes  honey  from  the  little  slim  goblets  of  the  pink  clover."  — 
Portland  Press. 

"Don  John  has  the  first  and  chiefest  requisite  of  a  novel,  —  it  is  extremely 
inte-  esting  from  first  to  last.  Nobody  could  mistake  the  plot,  or  no  plot  —  the 
remarkable  children  .  .  .  clever  beyond  the  actualities  of  real  life,  unique  as  never 
were  any  American  nursery  plants,  whatever  English  ones  may  be,  lustrous  with 
the  author's  peculiar  humor,  abounding  in  scintillations  of  aphoristic  wit.  with  that 
sad  and  only  half-satisfying  ending  which  Miss  Ingelow  is  in  the  habit  of  giving 
to  her  stories.  It  is  largely  a  vivid  picture  of  boy-and-girl  life,  and  as  such  is 
specially  delightful."  —  Home  Journal. 

"  The  delineation  of  character  and  the  portrayal  of  the  delightful  relations  ex- 
isting between  parents  and  children  in  the  cultured  circles  of  English  middle-class 
society,  is  most  skilfully  done,  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that,  though  quite  different 
from  the  preceding  novels  of  the  '  No  Name  '  series,  none  exceed  it  in  point  of 
interest  and  charm  of  style."  —  N.  Y.  Graphic. 

"  Don  John,  the  latest  of  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers*  '  No  Name'  novels,  is  a 
clever,  entertaining,  and  in  some  repects  an  ouginal  book.  .  .  .  The  story  is 
always  interesting ;  sometimes  it  is  fascinatingly  so.  ...  It  is  a  novel  in  all  re- 
spects  above  the  average.  Not  only  will  it  fix  and  hold  the  reader  in  virtue  of  the 
ingenuity  of  its  plot  and  the  spirit  with  which  it  is  told,  but  there  is  very  good 
character  work  in  it.  ...  The  scene  is  England,  and  the  story  presents  a  very 
charming  study  of  English  home  life.  The  style  in  which  the  story  is  written  is 
very  pleasing.  While  there  are  fine,  delicate  touches  of  palhos,  the  general  tone 
is  bright  and  cheery,  and  at  times  the  text  becomes  brilliant,  especially  in  the 
sayings  of  Charlotte.  Above  and  beyond  its  power  to  amuse,  the  novel  teaches  a 
lesson,  well  to  learn.  It  is  a  valuable  addition  to  the  popular  series."  —  Boston 
Pott. 

"  The  persons  are  well  conceived  and  sustained,  and  in  their  various  ways  are 
highly  interesting.  The  plot  is  odd  and  effective.  The  book  has  a  noble  moral 
tone,  and  there  is  much  capital  fun  in  it."  —  Congrcgationalist. 

In  one  volume,  1 61110.     Green  cloth.     Price,  $1.0O. 


Our  publications  are  to  be  had  of  all  booksellers.     When  not  to 
be  found,  send  directly  to  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS, 

BOSTON. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 
NO    NAME   (SECOND)   SERIES. 

THE  TSAR'S  WINDOW. 

"The  basis  of  all  novels  is,  more  or  less,  love.  Of  course  that  is  the  principal 
subject  of  this  story,  and  an  extremely  pretty  love  ta'e  it  is,  with  an  excellent  plot 
and  some  interesting  characters  well  drawn.  Incidental  to  the  story  are  introduced 
some  excellent  descriptions,  not  only  of  Russia's  two  great  cities,  St.  Petersburg 
and  Moscow,  as  they  appear  to  any  observer,  but  of  Russian  society  and  its  pecul- 
iar features.  It  is  really  a  book  of  valuable  instruction  iu  this  respect,  and  the 
instruction  is  made  highly  interesting."  —  Post. 


.  . 

"The  pretty  story  of  'The  Tsar's  Window"  is  told  by  some  happy  and  fortunat 

c-nn  n-iw.  Vi-ac  t  m  \r*\  \&A  in    Wiiccta    iinHpr    arl  vsntacrpnn*;   rirriim^lnnrp^.    Anrl    wh 


In  one  volume,  i6mo,  green  cloth.     Price,  $1.00. 

Our  publications  are  to  be  found  in  all  bookstores,  or  will 
be  mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS, 

Boston. 


Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


NO   NAME   (SECOND)   SERIES. 

MY  WIFE  AND  MY  WIFE'S  SISTER. 

"  ' The  No  Name  Series'  has  had  in  it  so  many  good  novels  that  to  say  "  This  is 
the  best,"  may  be  called  in  question.  And  yet  this  in  many  respects  is  true.  The 
book  is  remarkable  in  its  naturalness  and  easiness  of  belief,  even  when  the  incidents 
»re  so  wholly  improbable.  The  reader  stops  to  wonder  at  the  audacity  of  the  author 
in  taxing  the  credulity  of  his  readers,  but  in  a  moment  is  swept  along  into  a  forgetful- 
cess  of  all  doubt  by  the  ingenuity  of  the  artist  who  paints  the  pictures. 

Without  pandering  to  any  depravity,  the  story  is  more  excitingly  interesting  than 
any  French  novel  of  the  most  famous  authors."  —  Inter-Ocean,  Chicago.- 

"  One  of  the  best  written  and  most  attractive  volumes  of  the  piquant  series  to 
which  it  belongs."  — Portland  Press. 

"  Well  maintains  the  reputation  of  the  remarkable  series  of  which  it  is  the  latest 
volume."  —  Washington  Herald- 

"  The  last  '  No  Name '  has  already  been  declared  by  a  competent  critic  the  best 
of  the  series,  and  though,  remembering  certain  volumes  in  the  list  to  which  it  belongs, 
we  may  hesitate  to  award  it  that  extreme  praise,  we  cannot  help  acknowledging  that 
it  shows  a  certain  quality  of  excellence  more  conspicuous  than  any  of  its  predeces- 
sors." —  Boston  Transcript. 

•'  One  of  the  strongest  stories  of  a  sensational  kind  that  we  have  had  presented  in 
the  famous  series  to  which  it  belongs.  It  is  related  professedly  by  a  member  of  a 
French-American  firm  settled  in  Boston  in  the  early  part  of  the  century.  After  a 
brief  episode  of  his  youthful  life  he  visits  Paris  in  1818,  and  the  scenes  are  all  laid  in 
that  capital.  The  descriptions  of  the  great  personages  and  the  life  of  Paris  have  an 
air  of  vraisemblance  which  would  be  worthy  of  De  Foe.  The  sensational  plot  of  the 
story  is  the  detection  of  a  convict  who  has  risen  to  a  high  rank  among  the  changes 
subsequent  to  the  French  Revolution.  In  all  that  makes  an  absorbingly  interesting 
story  this  book  ranks  with  the  very  best  of  its  kind."  —  Christian  Intelligencer. 

"  If  it  is  not  the  best  of  the  excellent  stories  which  have  appeared  in  this  series, 
it  stands  very  near  to  that  position.  We  cannot  see  how  novel  readers  can  fail  to 
enjoy  it."  —  New  Bedford  Mercury. 

"One  of  the  best  novels  of  the  year.  The  plot  might  have  been  constructed  by 
Victor  Hugo  and  the  story  written  by  Edward  Everett  Hale."  — New  London  Tele- 
gram. 

"  If  this  does  not  prove  the  most  popular  of  the  series  we  shall  miss  our  guess. 
It  is  a  charming  book."  —  Peoria  Call. 

"  '  My  Wife  and  My  Wife's  Sister,'  the  latest  novel  issued  by  Messrs.  Roberts 
Brothers  in  their  '  No  Name  Series,'  will  rank  with  the  best  of  its  predecessors.  It  is 
full  of  incident,  much  of  it  of  a  dramatic  and  even  startling  character  ;  is  remarkably 
well  written ;  is  intensely  interesting,  and  can  hardly  fail  to  prove  among^  the  most 
popular  successes  of  recent  publications.  The  author,  who  tells  his  story  in  the  first 
person,  professes  to  be  a  gentleman  of  Boston  birth  and  French  descent.  The  scene 
Is  principally  laid  in  France  in  the  early  years  of  the  present  century.  There  is  a 
strong  love  story  connected  with  it,  but  the  most  exciting  features  of  the  plot  relate  to 
events  in  Paris  society  as  that  society  was  left  after  the  convulsions  that  attended  the 
French  Revolution  had  partially  subsided.  We  hear  no  conjecture  as  to  the  identity 
of  this  author.  His  (?)  is  a  practised  hand,  apparently,  in  literature,  if  it  has  not 
before  appeared  in  fiction.  His  narrative  power  is  something  remarkable,  and  can 
Sardly  fail  to  strongly  impress  the  reader,"  says  the  Boston  Saturday  Gazette. 
One  Volume.  i6mo.  Green  Cloth.  Price,  $x.oo. 


Our  publications  are  to  be  had  of  all  booksellers.     When  not  to 
be  found,  send  directly  to  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


THE  "NO  NAME   SERIES" 

GEMINI. 


It  has  been  rumored  that  the  present  volume  of  the  "  No  Name  Series"  is 
from  the  pen  of  Louisa  M.  Alcott.  After  reading  it,  we  are  fully  convinced  that 
the  surmise  is  correct-  It  is  written  in  the  truly  delighful  vein  of  her  former 
works,  is  full  of  bits  of  pathos  that  suddenly  move  one  to  tears,  and  also  of  inci- 
dents and  character-studies  that  are  irresistibly  amusing.  —  St.  Louis  Evening 
Post. 

The  lover  of  a  sterling  work  of  fiction  will  read  "Gemini"  with  a  sentiment 
of  gratitude,  it  is  so  genuine,  honest,  serious,  and  unpretending  in  its  character. 
There  is  little  room  for  doubt  that  it  is  by  one  of  our  most  popular  and  prolific 
authors,  who  has  given  us  a  long  series  of  brilliant  and  fascinating  stories,  that 
have  charmed  equally  th«  old  and  the  young.  Her  books  have  generally  more 
gayety  and  buoyant  sprightliness  than  the  present  one,  which  keeps  to  the  minor 
key  throughout ;  but  there  are  none  among  them  all  that  will  be  more  universally 
liked.  Its  subdued,  even  pensive,  tone  exercises  a  strong  power,  stirring  and 
exciting  to  active  sympathy  the  deeper  feelings  of  our  nature.  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

"  Gemini  "  is  a  genuine  New-England  idyl,  pure  and  sweet,  and  as  natural  as 
it  is  delightful.  The  breath  of  the  country  blows  through  it,  and  the  thrice-blessed 
reader  \\hose  childhood  was  passed  among  green  fields,  and  who  remembers  the 
scent  of  (he  woods,  the  song  of  the  birds,  and  the  feel  of  the  wind,  will  welcome 
it  as  a  remembrancer  of  all  of  them.  It  is  not  a  novel.  It  is  a  narrative,  so  sim- 
ply and  plainly  told,  that  one  almost  feels  it  to  be  real.  There  is  in  it  no  straining 
for  effect,  no  attempt  at  the  construction  of  a  plot.  The  whole  interest  is  centred 
in  a  single  family  of  a  little  out-of-the-way  mountain  community  ;  and  so  intense 
does  that  interest  become,  that,  when  the  book  is  finished  and  laid  aside,  the 
characters  follow  the  reader  like  people  he  has  met  and  known.  The  story  is  not 
so  brilliant  as  "  Kismet,"  nor  so  deeply  analytical  as  "  Mercy  Philbrick  ;"  but  as 
a  study  of  real  life,  and  as  an  excitant  of  human  sympathy,  it  is  better  and  more 
powerful  than  either.  —  Boston  Transcript. 

One  volume,  16mo,  cloth.     Price  $1.00. 


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not  to  be  found,  send  directly  to 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

BOSTON 


"NO  NAMi 

„         A    000  083  001     8 

WILL    DENBIGH,   NOBLEMAN. 

"  The  latest  of  the  '  No  Name  Series '  is  a  simple,  lovely  Devonshire  story, 
exquisitely  told.  Will  Denbigh,  whose  name  is  the  title  of  the  book,  is  a 
noble  hero  ;  the  little  heroine  wins  and  keeps  his  heart ;  but  the  great  charm  of 
the  tale  is  not  in  its  love  stories,  hearty  and  direct  those  are,  but  in  its  pict- 
ures of  country  life  and  country  curates,  —  the  curates  who  must  be  scattered 
all  over  England,  of  whom  Charles  Kingsley  was  one,  gentlemen  and  scholars, 
who  devote  all  they  are  and  all  they  have  to  the  cause  of  Christianity,  and  whose 
lives  of  service  in  the  little  parishes  of  farmers  or  fishermen  are  a  close  following 
of  the  Master  whom  they  worship.  The  author  does  not  preach,  but  tells  these 
beautiful  things  and  paints  these  noble  and  tender  pictures  as  if  he  or  she  had 
always  known  them,  had  always  been  familiar  with  such  characters,  and  talks 
about  them  with  a  tenderness  and  direct  simplicity  that  makes  them  alive  and 
real  to  the  reader.  The  book  is  thoroughly  sweet,  sound  and  hopeful  in 
spirit ;  the  style  has  the  strength  and  simplicity  of  an  accomplished  writer."  — 
Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  This  charming  and  clever  story  we  are  disposed  to  regard  as  the  best  tale 
yet  produced  in  the  '  No  Name  Series.'  "  —  The  Philadelphia  Press. 

"  Inferior  to  none  of  them  in  point  of  interest  ...  Its  perusal  will  be  a 
source  of  delight  to  every  reader,  and  will  add  greatly  to  the  reputation  of  a 
most  deservedly  popular  series."  —  New  Bedford  Mercury. 

"  The  novels  in  the  '  No  Name  Series  '  seem  to  take  on  a  more  ambitious 
character  as  their  number  increases,  and  the  one  here  before  us  ( '  Will  Den- 
bigh ')  ranks  higher  up  in  the  scale  of  literary  merit  than  most  of  its  prede- 
cessors." —  Boston  Post. 

"The  story  admirably  maintains  the  reputation  of  the  series."  —  Boston 
Com  man  wealth . 

"  '  Will  Denbigh  '  is  the  best  of  the  novels  that  have  as  yet  appeared  in 
the  'No  Name  Series.'  It  is  a  fresh,  wholesome,  and  thoroughly  agreeable 
story. ' '  —  Portland  Press. 

" '  No  Name '  is  considered  a  perfect  guarantee  of  excellence.  The  last 
.  issue,  '  Will  Denbigh '  will  not  detract  from  t'-ie  conceded  excellence  of  the 
series."  —  Albany  Evening  Journal. 

"  On  the  whole,  '  Will  Denbigh  '  continues  the  series  well,  and  is  still 
another  kind  of  link  in  this  chain,  unlike  in  form  and  ring  of  metal  to  any  of 
its  predecessors. "  —  Boston  Traveller. 

One  volume,  bound  in  Cardinal  red  and  black.     Price  Sl.OO. 

Our  Publications  are  to  be  had  of  all  booksellers.  When  not  to  be  fcund^ 
send  directly  to 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS. 

Boston. 


